


Take Me Out to the Black

by Sassaphrass



Category: Firefly, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Athos is an Academy soldier, Basically he's River Tam, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Friendship is Magic, Gen, Grieving, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Medical Experimentation, Murder, Musketeers: In Space!, Porthos is the only one who is sensible, Running Away, Suicide, Terrorism, Thoughts of Suicide, Torture, Warning: Athos, or are they Freedom Fighters?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The France district is an out of the way and unfashionable corner of the galaxy. It exists in the strange no man's land between the frontier planets of the Outer Rim and the urban planets of the Central Core.</p><p>It is the perfect place for someone on the run from the Alliance to hide. Which is exactly why Athos chose it. </p><p>Firefly AU/ Space AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro: The Killer and His Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos is a soldier

The France district is an out of the way and unfashionable corner of the galaxy. It exists in the strange no man's land between the frontier planets of the Outer Rim and the urban planets of the Central Core.

  
It also has the dubious distinction of siding with the Alliance during the Unification War despite being self-governing for the last few centuries.

The Hereditary ruler (formerly the King, but the Alliance doesn't care for Kings even ones who support them) is still in charge on paper, but the France district is now considered a quadrant of the Alliance, semi-autonomous except in the matters that the Alliance cares to interfere on.

Those in power (even the Hereditary ruler who is basically an over grown child) know that the France district is more important than most people realize. They are wealthy, self-sustaining, well populated and grow half the fresh produce that feeds the galaxy. Had they chosen to ally themselves with the Rebels they might have found themselves on the winning side, or at least dragged the war on for a decade more.

 The Alliance officials who live and work in the France district are always thoroughly warned against doing anything that might cause trouble. Should the France district take offence it would be very easy for them to disrupt the regular shipments of food that keep the lower classes of the Core complacent. The last thing the Alliance needs is a rebellion on the home front.

 The one major fly in the ointment of Alliance control is the independent law-enforcement and personal guard employed by the Hereditary monarch and answerable only to him and to their captain. It had unfortunately been made exceedingly clear in multiple treaties that the autonomy of the Personal Guard was paramount and non-negotiable should the Alliance hope to maintain _it's_ alliance with the France District.  
   
 Cardinal Richelieu, personal Alliance trained advisor to the king, does do his best to undermine this force at every opportunity. This belligerence would be much more reassuring to the leaders of the Alliance if Richelieu had not constantly proven that his loyalty lay first with the France district and only second with the Alliance. They tried unsuccessfully to have him killed, but have since realised that the death of the Cardinal would be more disastrous to the running of the France district than anything the rebels could come up with.

 Luckily, for all the inhabitants of the France District, the Personal Guard has never, not even once, overstepped France's and been caught dispensing justice outside of it's jurisdiction.

 The fact that they're armed with out of date plasma cannons and swords earning them the teasing nickname of “Musketeers” has also helped reassure the Alliance brass that disbanding the personal guard would be more trouble than it is worth. Not to mention a PR nightmare.

 The Personal Guard may be in fact the only legal position a man can hold which is well and truly outside of the Alliance's reach even if you sometimes can still feel their fingers on your neck.

 This is precisely why the Musketeer known only as Athos sought out a position there.

 On the surface Athos seems exactly the sort of man who would become a Musketeer: Skilled with the gun and a magician with the blade, possessing a certain education and a definite ferocity. He seems at home among the merchants and second sons who fill the ranks of the Personal Guard.

 It's only in the details that things begin to seem a little odd. Education of a kind is certainly common among the soldiers, stupid men are not welcome in the ranks, but fine manners and the accent of not just the merchants and minor nobility but the great lords sometimes seem to slip through the hard veneer of indifference that Athos maintains and _those_ are most certainly uncommon among the soldiers.  
   
 Then of course there's the drunkenness.

 Despite the fact that he holds himself apart from the other men and seems somehow to not _quite_ belong, Athos makes a life for himself in the few short hours a day between guard duty and passing out blind drunk.

 Specifically he befriends the two other wildly talented misfits who have washed up in the relatively safe harbour of the Elite Personal Guard: Aramis and Porthos.

 Athos finds it deeply ironic that of the three of them he is considered the least remarkable.

 Porthos has a tremendous strength that must be seen to be believed. He tosses grown men about as though they are little more than puffs of eiderdown upon the breeze. Aramis has never missed a shot with his photon rifle, even with a make and model that is notorious for it's inaccuracy.

 Athos _is_ noted for his skill with a blade, of course, the old hours of practice shining through in his every movement. But, that's considered less impressive in the light of his obviously privileged upbringing, because who other than a noble, a Musketeer or a space-pirate would bother learning to use a blade?

 Funnily enough, the sword was the one way of killing that he did not possess courtesy of the Alliance. No, Athos had always been a talent with a sword and he wonders if one day someone will mention that young champion who disappeared, the one from the grand family who they say fought like the very devil?  But no one does. It seems his old self is as lost to the world as Athos wishes it could be to his own mind.

 There is a rumour- one that had been circulating for years on the Core planets before it finally reached the out of the way backwater that most Alliance members considered Paris, capital planet of the France district, to be. The rumour states that the best and the brightest are seduced by promises of a wonderful Alliance funded school only to disappear and never be seen again.

 It sends shivers up and down Athos' spine when he hears Aramis relating the tale to an obviously enraptured Porthos. They laugh about it. “How brilliant could they be if they don't see that one coming a mile off?” Porthos asks with a bellowing laugh.

 Athos shrugs, impassively and reaches for more wine. He resists the urge to rub at the surgical scars that run ruler straight along his arms and instead downs a glass in one gulp and then holds tight to the gold locket that hangs around his neck.

   
           Those things they gave him, those things they made him, they don't actually do anything other than nearly drive him mad. Hearing the conversations three streets over, smelling blood two hours before they come across a body, knowing exactly where to put the pressure to kill a man with one strike. These things haunt him.

 He's not sure exactly what they were trying to make him into; he didn't ask questions- didn't even try. Just took the pills, breathed in the anaesthetic before the surgeries and dutifully did whatever exercises were asked of him. Porthos is right, it's his own fault for not realizing. He should have known better then- he certainly does now.

   
 He drinks. He drinks until he can't stand until the whole world seems softer and friendlier. Until he's vomiting in an alley and hardly able to stand up. Of course, that's when he looks up and see her.     
   
  His wife, though he doesn't even know her real name. His captor, though he is free. His tormentor and his saviour and the reason he still sometimes smiles when he sees forget-me-nots growing up through the pavement (even though he always catches himself afterwards and forces his face into a scowl). The memory of her should not warm his soul. He won't allow it. It's wrong that he still loves her.  
   
 She's in Paris, which means they've sent her to Paris which means...Athos has no fucking idea what that means. She's looking at him with something that might be hatred, could possibly be pity and it turns his stomach. He ends up pausing to bring up the final contents of his stomach and when he finally manages to lever himself upright again she's gone.

 He'd thought he'd escaped her long ago, on that dark day when he'd tied a rope around her neck and hung her from a tree. It appears he was wrong.

 The whole sorry affair is momentarily banished from his mind the next day when Mr. d'Artagnan from Lupiac on the planet of Gascogny shows up demanding Athos die for the murder of his father.

In the ensuing chaos of dueling, trial, name clearing and accepting d'Artagnan as an unofficial Musketeer, the murderous, betraying snake of a woman Athos once loved seems comparatively unimportant.

 It''s paranoia, he decides, drunken paranoia that he will leave behind him from now on. She's dead. He killed her himself.

 So, if he drinks a bit deeper and a bit more often, well that's no business of anyone but himself and not so unusual that Aramis or Porthos feel the need to remark on it.

 He doesn't tell Aramis or Porthos about her. He knows he hasn't suffered anything worse than the horrors they've crawled from.

 Aramis is the sole survivor of a browncoat massacre and Porthos had somehow climbed out of the worst slums on Paris, dodged the terraforming slavers, disease, drugs, pimps and the draft to find himself in the elite guard of the Hereditary Ruler.  
   
 Athos had it easy compared to them. He even had it easy compared to d'Artagnan who comes from a successful farm on Gascogny just on the Edges of neutral French space, and who'd had to work hard every day since he was large enough to hold a trowel to help make that world a little more livable for the next generation.

 Athos had never had to do hard work until he joined the Academy at her urging. He comes from a moon on the edges of the line that designates Central Planets from Outer Rims, and fell just on the far side of civilization. It had been terraformed in the time of his great-great-grandfather and had been the property of his family ever since.

 It's the sort idyllic paradise that settlers get shown before they bet everything on a one way ticket to the Outer Rim and some new world- despite the fact that the arid worlds they're headed to are nothing like the lush green planet of Fère.

 Yes, even counting in that year or two of absolute torture in the Academy, Athos has had it easy. Aramis and Porthos and even d'Artagnan managed to make something of themselves. Athos was just raw clay which others moulded into something worthy. She had done that to him- for him.

 He's happy to chalk the whole thing up to hallucinations brought on by intense inebriation and misplaced nostalgia right up until he sees her _again_. This time he's as sober as he ever gets and she's leaning out of a hover-carriage talking to d'Artagnan before handing him a purse of credits.

 Athos is going to be sick. She's going to do the same thing to d'Artagnan that she once did to him. It hurts his vanity, even now after everything, to see that really he never meant anything to her. Just another mark to con into entry into the Academy.

  _She's also the one that saved you_. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers as he watches her smile at D'Artagnan. _She could have saved herself and left you there but she didn't._

 It's true.

 She had been the Academy's greatest triumph- A perfect assasin. He had been barely worth keeping alive as far as his creators were concerned. She had had to fight her way out while practically carrying him on her back he'd been so useless in the escape. They'd gone back to Fère together. The semi-autonomy of the French district an extra cushion of security around what amounted to a private planet.

 In some other, better 'verse that's where the story ends. He lives with the woman who saved him and he never finds out certain things that make it all turn to ash.

 It's weak that he wishes that was the ending. That he could have kept on in blissful ignorance about the woman he loved rather than deal with the fact that she was-

 -is a murderer. That she'd already been an Academy Graduate when they'd met. That she had suffered all the tortures the Alliance could concoct herself years before and knowing what it was to suffer them, she'd still led him to that fate all the same.

 And all that he might have forgiven, but for what she'd done to Thomas.

  She'd killed his brother, confessed to him herself what she had done. And she hadn't seen it for what it was. She'd just gone on about how she was protecting them and...and... he'd lost his mind to anger, and hung her from  a tree by a rope.

 He thinks if it was just him that she'd hurt that he might be able to forgive her. But Thomas had been worth ten of him and-

 Little brothers, no matter how old they get, will always be little brothers.

 He can't let her recruit d'Artagnan, because d'Artagnan has all the good qualities of Porthos, Aramis and Thomas and none of their failings, not to say that he doesn't have failings, just that his failings are his own and different.

 He is also kinder and gentler and more naive than any of those other men that Athos has loved and failed to protect.

 Athos was not there to protect Aramis and Porthos, and failed to protect Thomas. He will not allow harm to come to d'Artagnan if he can help it- even if the boy could use a sharp slap to the head more often than not.

 So, he does just that as Milady's hover carriage pulls away.

 “What was that for?!” d'Artagnan squawks, rubbing the back of his head. 

 “I see you speaking to that woman again you'll be begging for a slap in the head.” Athos warns.

 “Wha-?”

 “I don't like repeating myself d'Artagnan!” Athos yells over his shoulder as he walks back to base.

 After that he watches d'Artagnan like a hawk and takes the foolish Gascon under his wing with the guise of acting as a mentor to the promising young lad. He's not sure he's fooling anyone, but no one says anything.

  
  Life goes on at the Garrison. Porthos has a misadventure involving a drunken black-out and a murder. Aramis makes questionable decisions about his love life and d'Artagnan is given an official spot in the company. They planet hop across the French District half a dozen times in only a few months performing their duties for the Kin-...Hereditary Ruler.

  
 Things are good enough that Athos can almost pretend Anne's reappearance hasn't changed things at all. He's not sure he's fooling anyone though.

 Anne is now in the service of the Cardinal.

 He hates himself for what he did to Anne but he's absolutely sure that there is no power in the 'verse that can match the hatred Anne feels for him. He knows that it would be difficult for the Alliance to come and forcibly remove him from the planet of Paris without causing a scene (And if there was one thing the Academy could not tolerate it was attracting attention) but with Anne in the employ of the Cardinal it is a thin thread that prevents the France District from selling him back to the Academy themselves.  
   
it takes every ounce of self control that Athos possesses not to constantly manoeuvre himself so his back is against the wall and he has a clear view of an escape route.

 His life depends on the Cardinal being unwilling to gamble on the Alliance trusting him to keep a secret. He spends his time on guard duty watching the Cardinal and whoever is accompanying him stroll through the perfectly manicured gardens of the palace with his heart in his throat.

  It sends shivers up his spine because the Cardinal now must know his true identity, there's no question that Anne would have sold him out. Until now only Treville had been aware of who he'd once been and even Treville was unaware of exactly what had transpired when he had disappeared to attend a school in the Core.  
    
 Athos spends his free moments these days trying to convince himself that he truly was in no danger. The Cardinal was nothing if not skilled in the art of self preservation and he would not risk his own neck for a small mountain of credits.

 

Things are good enough that Athos can almost pretend Anne's reappearance hasn't changed things at all.

 

 He doesn't think he's fooling anyone.

 The crisp line that he has maintained dividing who he was before, from what had been done to him, from who he was now have started to blurr. Everything that the Academy made him seems thrown into high relief so that he can no longer blithely ignore the sound of singing four streets over, anymore than he can ignore the hair-thin surgical scars that precisely criss-cross his body.  
   
 The stakes of their assignments seem higher lately too and Athos cannot always afford to act as a regular man. He cannot use moonshine to dull his senses and reflexes, because that fraction of a fraction of a second means life or death now, and not just for him, but for the people of the France district and more importantly than _that_ : for his friends.

He was lucky that he'd been mostly sober the day he'd saved Porthos from an explosion, if he'd been even a bit drunker he would not have heard the timer and...well a life without Porthos' kindness and exuberance simply did not bear contemplation.  
   
 It doesn't help to keep his secret that d'Artagnan's fresh eyes are more likely to notice what is really there rather than ignore all but what they expect to see. More than once Athos had done something that was almost, but not quite, impossible only to find D'Artagnan contemplating him with a seriousness was out of place coming from the usually carefree and careless young man.

 He starting to think there are only two options left: start praying he'll get a bad batch of moonshine one of these days and quietly never wake up again OR stop drinking all together and let the things the Alliance did to him be what saves his life. Because, if he truly became what they had hoped to turn him into then no power in the verse could stop him.

 He wishes he were strong enough that it was an easy or an obvious choice, but it's not. 

 He knows that he needs to make a decision about what he will do about what he is. If he doesn't become what they made him then they'll catch him maybe kill him, it he becomes what they made him then he'll wish he was dead.

 So, he postpones the decision until after they return from their latest mission, in the hopes that a few days in the black will magically wash away his uncertainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really should have just named this Chapter: Exposition, this time it's Space Travel! 
> 
> I blame this fic entirely on that scene in Knight takes Queen where Athos hears the horses (okay: sees the ripples in the pot and magically KNOWS it's horses). 
> 
> Only explanation for that? He has super hearing. 
> 
> Those of you familiar with Firefly will have noticed that Athos is not in fact psychic, my explanation is that he was part of a different line of experiments focused on augmenting existing sense rather than granting new ones. Basically he was an earlier generation of experiments and River is the latest gadget.


	2. Chapter 2: The Comte and Comtesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prisoner transport mission goes wrong and the four musketeers find themselves on Athos' home world. 
> 
> Unfortunately, they're not the only ones to arrive there unexpectedly.

Their assignment is escorting a terraforming genius across the France District so that he can stand trial in the Core for breaking trade agreements. It's a perfect distraction from the personal shit that's slowly but surely beginning to crowd out any and all other thoughts in Athos' mind.

 

Or at least it was until the slave trading terraformer in question's wife forcibly boards the ship like some ridiculous space-pirate and absconds with said terraformer but not before damaging their hyperdrive and shooting Porthos.

 

On top of everything their medic (Aramis) who is needed to keep their best pilot (Porthos) alive, is the same person as their second best pilot (Aramis) and somehow when Aramis ran to the infirmary to try and prevent Porthos from bleeding to death it was their worst pilot (d'Artagnan) and not their third best (Athos) who grabbed the controls which means they all may die in a fiery crash.

 

Athos wishes he hadn't been so paranoid when they set out that he'd refrained from getting drunk before the mission. He cannot deal with the fact they are probably going to die due to space-pirates and d'Artagnan's reckless piloting sober. He probably couldn't deal with it drunk either but there's a chance.

 

Athos massages his temples as d'Artagnan and Aramis simultaneously and loudly panic about how they're going to die in the black because of a damaged hyperdrive/lack of sterile gauze/crazy space-pirates/ d'Artagnan not knowing how to properly manage the ship to Aramis' exacting specifications.

 

“If things are really that dire” Athos drawls and gestures to the star map. “We could always land on that planet.”

 

“That is a moon Athos!” d'Artagnan shrieks.

 

“Never the less we could land on-” and that's the moment that Athos actually reads the label next to the speck on the map, looks out the window, recognizes the positions of the stars and realizes that his life is actually some sort of sick cosmic joke because that is not just a moon that is _Athos'_ moon as in the moon _owned_ by Athos. It's Fère. Of course it's fucking Fère.

 

Aramis is yelling over the coms that Fère is notoriously strict about who comes in and goes out and is more likely than not to shoot them out of the sky before they can land but by the love of god d'Artagnan get us on that rock and get us there now!

 

Porthos can be loudly heard in the background protesting that he is absolutely _fine_ and there's absolutely _no need_ to land anywhere.

 

D'Artagnan glances up at Athos in desperation. Slowly Athos nods. “Bring us down. I'll handle security, I'm sure Aramis is over-reacting.”

 

Athos is pleasantly surprised to learn that Aramis is _not_ over-reacting and that, even five years after he high-tailed it off the planet with nothing more than the family sword, a golden locket, and a jewelry box,  the orders he'd put in place when he'd managed to crawl back home as a fugitive with a new bride are still being followed to the letter.

 

This would be slightly more gratifying if it didn't mean that the automated blasters on the landing bay were going to blow them out of the sky momentarily since d'Artagnan couldn't answer the damn hail.

 

 

It has become painfully obvious that d'Artagnan is not capable of flying the ship and speaking at the same time, so the repeated hails are going unanswered and it's only when Athos manages (after a brief slap fight) to bodily push d'Artagnan out of the pilot seat in order to reach the correct button that the hail gets answered.

 

The man on the other end is very angry and very loud. Athos doesn't bother answering any of his frankly insulting questions, and calmly types in his own override.

 

A computer generated female voice fills the cabin. “Please say your voice key.”

 

“Voice Key: Comte Olivier de la Fère.” Athos grinds out between his teeth as he tries to fly, keep d'Artagnan pinned with one foot and correctly pronounce a name he hasn't said in half a decade.

 

There's a pause and the calm female voice fills the cabin again: “ Voice Key Accepted. Welcome Home, _Mon Seigneur._ Please proceed to your private dock in the central landing bay, or to the landing bay on your estate. _Bonne journée, Monsieur le Comte.”_

 

Athos hurriedly inputs the coordinates of his estate and then reluctantly lets D'Artagnan up off the floor so he can pilot the ship into the dock.

 

He ignores the fact that d'Artagnan is staring at him as though he's grown an extra head. “Something you'd like to say D'Artagnan?” he snaps. The young recruit mutely shakes his head.

 

Luckily for them as a group, but personally unfortunate for Athos, d'Artagnan does not crash the ship while docking at the landing bay. The hiss of the airlock heralds their arrival on the Fere estate, and the shriek of “Olivier!” heralds Athos' arrival home.

 

He should have realized that the news of the Comte's return planet-side would immediately reach his old housekeeper and she would feel herself honour bound to welcome him home and fuss over him.

 

“ _Mon chèr enfant, tu as retouné a moi! Il y a un Dieu! Je n'ai jamais pu croire que mon Olivier était mort! Tous le monde m'a dit que je ne te vera que dans l'au-de-las, mais j'étais certaine que je te verais encore!!!”_

 

His old housekeeper flings herself at him the moment he was through the door grabbing his face in her withered old hands and alternating between trying to squeeze him to death and peppering his cheeks with kisses all while maintaining a constant stream of French.

 

“ _Je ne l'ai jamais cru que tu étais mort! Jamais! Mon petit chou, pourquoi a-tu disparu come ça? Tu as brisé mon coeur un deuxième fois en disparaitre jusque après la mort de votre frère!_

 

 _“Vous êtes en bonne santé?”_ Athos finally manages to choke out, pushing her away to hold her at arms length. It's a cold move. The woman had raised him and his brother and he should not put such distance between them or remind her of her place, but, she knows him better than anyone living or dead and it would be so easy for her to discover that his sojourn at the Academy had comprised of more medical experimentation and less classical learning modules than he had previously led her to believe.

 

She stops short, clearly taken aback by his brusqueness. Then she schools her face into something more professional.

 

_“Oui, Mon Seigneur.”_

 

 _“Y'a t-il un docteur içi?”_ he asks.

 

_“Non, mon Seigneur, mais je peut aller au ville et chercher un si vous en avez besoin?”_

 

Aramis, who's probably been following more of this than Athos would like, jumps in here. “We don't need a doctor, I was an army medic in case you forgot-”

 

Athos nods, and waves his houskeeper away, gesturing for Aramis and D'Artagnan to follow him.

 

“The infirmary is this way.”

 

Everything is as he remembers it. The old 3-D holograms are even still playing. Thomas, age 9, giggles and peaks his head out from around a corner a few doors down from the infirmary, as Athos' younger self frowns and crosses his arms, already too serious at 13 to care for that sort of behaviour.

 

His mother had always insisted on 3-D holos in full colour despite their obscene cost. She'd been a Companion and was absent more often than not and so wanted a full look at how her sons had aged in her absence.

 

The infirmary is just as he remembers it. Clean, white and every drawer fully stocked with everything a person could need to treat any and all physical ailments.

 

He remembers dragging Thomas' body here, after he had found him in the apple orchard behind the house. He'd known his brother had been dead but some stupid childish belief that everything bad could be fixed in this room had prompted him to bring the body here.

 

They haul Porthos up onto the table and Athos has a syringe in his neck to knock him out before anyone else can move.

 

Aramis is pulling on a pair of rubber gloves while d'Artagnan puts pressure on the wound. He glances up through his lashes at Athos, “So, you're a son of the nobility?”

 

Athos gives him a deadpan stare, but points out where various supplies are kept.

 

Once everything is far enough under control that Aramis shoos him out of the room Athos finds himself walking the hallways on his own. He fucking hates those holos. It's like watching his whole doomed march from sullen child, to promising teenager, to young newlywed with haunted eyes on fast forward.

 

It's when he gets to the last holo he ever had made that he stops. Him and Anne, newly returned to Fère and both still just a touch too skinny, dolled up in the finest of French fashions (though Anne's dress does have clean lines reminiscent of the utilitarian Alliance uniforms). Thomas is in the next hallway over. Young and careless with laughing eyes. A far cry from his too serious big brother.

 

Someone has corrupted the data for Anne's face. It's been distorted beyond recognition. Athos isn't sure whether he is relieved or disappointed. He's not sure he could face her but part of him wants to peak through that window into the past and see her through the eyes of his younger self again.

 

He can't take this house filled with ghosts. To hell with his resolution to stay sharp in case of attack. Nothing evil entered this house except whatever Athos brought with him. He needed wine and he needed it now.

 

He finds himself in their old room, a bottle of wine older than himself in hand. This room has the big feather bed his mother had brought from the central planets on one of her visits.

 

The place is too full of ghosts. His own. His mother's. Thomas. And Anne of course- Anne most of all. He hates her and hates himself for what he did to her. He loves her too, though, and misses her. Part of him wonders if he couldn't hold the broken pieces of himself together better if she was here.

 

They were everything to each other. Everything good and everything bad wrapped together so tightly that the two can never be separated.

 

 _He is in pain. The tight sharp pain of precise scalpel incisions. They've restrained him so that the cuts will heal, but this is also a psychological test. They are monitoring his brain's response to pain. They kept him awake for the surgery, heavily drugged enough that he couldn't move but could hear and see and_ feel _as they cut him open. They were doing something to his muscles so the cuts weren't too deep at least. He's heard they tried something similar with another of the 'students' only they went to the bone and the poor fellow went mad._

 

_There's suddenly a soft touch on his forehead and Anne is there. She shouldn't be; he's meant to be in isolation until he's healed. She's risking so much by visiting. He can just turn his head enough to see her. She smiles with her eyes filled with tears. “Oh my love.” she says. “I'm sorry. I should not have suggested you come here.”_

_“You couldn't have known” he replies._

 

_She leans down and kisses the side of his head. “I will get you out” she breathes, almost too quiet for him to hear even though her lips brush his ear. “I promise. I will get you out and nothing will ever come between us again. I swear on my life”_

 

_He nods. She presses a kiss to his forehead and then to his mouth, nods and then disappears through the door. He wonders what it cost her to visit him, how she managed to bribe the guards into letting her through the door and then decides it's better not to know. There are so many horrors already._

 

He does not remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up and sees her face he thinks perhaps he is still dreaming. Then he wonders if he's dead. So, he asks her. 

 

“Is this Hell?”

 

She strokes the side of his face. “Only the one we all live in.”

 

He should get up but he's drunk and he's liable to fall over and besides- there's only been one time he ever won a fight against her and it was entirely based on the element of surprise. He doesn't expect it to work a second time.

 

“Howd-you-get 'ere?” he slurrs and she picks up his arm gently cradling his wrist in one hand.

 

“It seems no one bothered to delete a dead woman's voice key.”

 

“Huh.”

 

She has a needle in her hand and Athos should really care a bit more about that, but he knows whatever she does will be nothing less than he deserves though.

 

She lines it up with the crook of his elbow and presses the plunger.

 

She leans down and kisses his forehead and walks out. He collapses back on the bed and wonders whether he'll finally get his wish and not wake up from one of his drunken binges.

 

 

 

D'Artagnan only notices that Athos has disappeared once Aramis has finished with Porthos.

 

He steps outside and looks both ways down the hall. The holo of the little boy giggles at him and the older one glowers. The house is an enormous sprawling mansion, built in mostly French style but with a few touches of the Core to class the place up.

 

There's art on the walls, as well as the holos that seem to haunt most corners. They aren't like the old ones in the palace that glow and flicker. These seem real.

 

The first sign of Athos is a trail of spilled wine. D'Artagnan follows it up the stairs to the second story. The hallway has huge floor to ceiling windows and white curtains, that could buy and sell the farm on Gascony three times over, billow in the breeze.

 

The trail of wine ends at the top of the stairs. There's a door open down the hall though. D'Artagnan peaks in and nearly stops breathing. Athos is lying limp on the bed and the sheets all around him are stained red, he's raced across the space before he stops to consider the smell of wine and notices the bottle that has rolled to rest against one of the legs.

 

“Athos?” he asks gently. Athos is usually a sad drunk but there are times when he gets mean.

 

Athos gasps and flails wildly with one arm. There's something off about the movements, almost as though Athos can't quite control what he's doing. “M-my......” he breathes.

 

“What?” D'Artagnan looks over his shoulder and locks gazes with a very familiar woman.

 

It's Milady. The mysterious benefactor Athos had warned him to stay away from.

 

He turns to ask Athos why she's here only to find his friend has gone rigid and the veins in his neck are standing out.

 

“Athos?” No response. “ATHOS?!”

 

D'Artagnan bolts down the hallway screaming for Aramis only to literally run into the housekeeper from earlier. She looks at him and then runs in the direction of the room where d'Artagnan had found Athos.

 

By the time d'Artagnan gets back with Aramis she has Athos loaded onto some sort of hover stretcher, which must have some sort of emergency programing to call it because it sure has hell was not with her when d'Artagnan left.

 

Aramis tilts Athos over so he's laying in recovery position. All the medicine in the verse won't save him if he suffocates on his own vomit.

 

When they get down to the infirmary the housekeeper is all efficiency and any attempts to help are met with a withering stare that makes Athos on his worst day look like an adorably pouty child. She draws blood from Athos and puts it in a machine that obviously doesn't like what it finds because a siren and flashing light start going off and a drawer that had previously looked like part of the wall shoots open rather violently.

 

The housekeeper is all gentleness though when she injects something into Athos' neck. She pauses a moment, runs her hand through his hair and then after glancing over at them like she expects them to stop her, leans down and presses a kiss to his temple.

 

“ _Mon pauvre Olivier.”_ she whispers before she sits down and takes his hand.

 

Porthos, of course, chooses that moment for the last of the knockout drugs to wear out and sits up blearily. He glances at Athos, “Christ, I thought 'e was alright?” he mutters in confusion.

 

Aramis raises his eyebrows. “He was until about three minutes ago.”

 

“Wha?” Porthos asks.

 

The three of them troupe upstairs to have a look around. There's no sign of Milady and no telling how she could have gotten in without being seen. The room is empty except for the bed with it's winestained sheets and the bottle on the floor.

 

It's Porthos who suggests that they try and find where he got the wine in the first place.

 

It turns out to be a very large warmly decorated room with huge wine racks, shelves of bottles of all kinds and drawers full of things d'Artagnan doesn't even recognize.

 

Aramis whistles. “Now, this is what I call a Vice Cabinet.” He picks up a vial of clear liquid and waves it in d'Artagnan's face. “Take note my friend. You and I could eat for the month on the proceeds of this bottle.”

 

D'Artagnan stares at it wide eyed. Porthos grabs it out of Aramis' hand and glowers in disgust before tossing it back in the drawer and slamming it shut. “Get your hands off that disgusting shit.” he growls. “I ever see you go near that stuff d'Art I'll be smashing your face in? Gottit?”

 

D'Artagnan nods quickly. An Angry Porthos is a terrifying sight.

 

“Christ.” Porthos groans.

 

“Hell of a Day isn't it?” Aramis teases with a joking smile.

 

“First that bloody slaver and then this-” he gestures to room “fresh hell.”

 

D'Artagnan stares at the them and shakes his head. “What happened to Athos?” he asks.

 

Aramis and Porthos both look at him like he's been taking stupid pills.

 

“Well, d'Artagnan, sometimes men-or women- like to take chemical substances to make themselves feel things. Judging by this room, our dear friend Athos once indulged in this habit. Returning here he found the temptation too great, but having been so long without, whatever it was, he took too much and...well. Here we are.”

 

D'Artagnan shakes his head. “No, I meant, how'd he go from here to the Personal Guard. If he has all this why is he practically starving half the time, how'd he get that scar if he's literally got a hospital room in his house-Don't you wonder?”

 

Porthos and Aramis exchange a look. Aramis shrugs. “Old soldiers all have secrets D'Artagnan. Give it some time and you'll have a few of your own. It's best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

 

Porthos tugs at an ear. “All I ever heard were he had a woman and-”

 

“and she died by his hand, yes, I know that but...” D'Artagnan trails off as Aramis and Porthos both give him identical looks of shock and horror. “...I take it you didn't know that last part...?”

 

Porthos' face darkens with anger and d'Artagnan jumps out of the way as he storms past with Aramis hot on his heels- obviously trying to talk him down.

 

Porthos is frustrated to discover that the door to the infirmary is locked. He bangs on it. “Open up! Athos and I need to have some words!!”

 

The door slides open to reveal the housekeeper with a gun steadily pointed at his head. “You will leave the Comte alone.” she growls in heavily accented but still perfectly understandable Standard.

 

Porthos holds up his hands as Aramis and d'Artagnan come skidding round the corner.

 

“YOU!” She snarls, training the gun on d'Artagnan and unclicking the safety. “I should shoot you where you stand for hurting my Olivier!”

 

The all hold their hands up. Naturally it's Aramis who pipes up. “Now I think there's been some sort of misunderstanding here. Care to explain _why_ you want to shoot us?”

 

“Housefire. The drug. Olivier's father liked his chems, it was always the drink for my boy but he knows his chems. There's not way he take that by accident. You did it you pig!” she spits at D'Artagnan. “I saw you running from his room!!” There are tears in her eyes.

 

D'Artagnan looks confused but Aramis has gone pale. “Housefire? You're sure?”

 

“He's still alive isn't he?” she screams.

 

“What is it? What does she mean?” D'Artagnan asks.

 

“House fire was a drug invented a few wars ago. Used for interrogation. Any dose is excrutiatingly painful, any substantial dose if not counteracted with the antidote will lead to a long and terrible death.” Aramis explains.

 

“I swear to you. I gave him nothing!” D'Artagnan says earnestly. “We're his friends.”

 

She lowers the gun and jabs a finger at d'Artagnan. “You. Stay there. You-” she points at Aramis and Porthos “come in.”

 

They sit together and watch Athos lie still and silent on the table. His housekeeper holds his hand.

 

“This puts a wrench it our pursuit of Bonnaire.” Aramis murmurs.

 

“I'll stay with Athos. You take the kid and get going.” Porthos replies gruffly, his voice low.

 

“Promise you won't kill him without giving him a chance to explain?”

 

“Like that old baggage would let me.” Porthos grumbles watching the housekeeper closely.

 

Aramis flashes Porthos a tight grin before getting up and walking out.

 

Porthos sits and watches the housekeeper watch Athos. It's odd. She obviously loves him but he had hardly spoken to her and had pushed her away when she'd kissed him on arrival.

 

The minute he starts stirring she is up and on the other side of the room busying herself with disposing of the packages from the supplies Aramis had used.

 

There's a groan and Athos tries to get up.

 

Porthos darts forward to support his friend. “Easy. Aramis said you'd be useless for a coupla' days now.”

 

Athos glares at him.

 

“You gonna say what happened?” Porthos asks.

 

Athos shrugs.

 

“It have to do with killin' your wife?” Porthos demands to know, he doesn't bother to hide his anger.

 

Athos meets his gaze squarely and without flinching. “Yes.”

 

Porthos gets up and takes a few deep breathes, very aware of the heavily armed and apparently deeply loyal servant who is watching him out of the corner of her eye.

 

He grabs the chair and drags it closer. “Okay, explain. Cause I'm about two minute from smashin' your head in.”

 

Athos stares blankly at the wall. “I had a younger brother. Thomas. He was... He was my younger brother. I found him in the apple orchard one day. Stone cold. Dead. Someone had killed him. Garotte. She did it. Told me so herself. I became very angry. I thought I killed her but obviously” he gestured at his rather pathetic state “she's less dead than I had thought.”

 

“She did that?”

 

Athos nods. “Revenge. Justified, I suppose.”

 

There's the sound of breaking glass and Athos seems to notice the housekeeper. “Grimaud, leave us.” he barks.

 

She nods and scurries out.

 

Porthos frowns and watches her leave, momentarily distracted from the matter at hand. “Who is she?” he can't help but ask.

 

Athos stares at him like he is in fact a moron. “My housekeeper.”

 

“Ain't no housekeeper I ever met willing to blow off a man's head to protect an employer she hasn't seen in five years.”

 

Athos groans and very slowly, lowers himself back down to lie on the table. “She was the caretaker of myself and my brother before she was entrusted with the care of the house.”

 

“Caretaker?”

 

Athos waves his hand. “You know: ensured that my father returned to find us in roughly the same condition he had left us in- just a bit taller usually.”

 

Porthos leans back and crosses his arms. “What? Noble mothers too busy for the actual mothering?”

 

“Legally I don't have a mother.” Athos responds sounding very tired of this line of questioning.

 

“Everyone has a mother.” Porthos counters

 

“Unless like myself and my brother you've sprung fully formed into the world in full battle reglia.” Athos quips.

 

Porthos does his best to glare the truth out of his friend.

 

There's a long sigh before Athos mumbles. “My mother was a Companion under contract. Not only was my father rich enough to pay her and was interesting and powerful enough to be a client of hers for nearly 20 years but she _also_ agreed to have his children. Not just one, but two sons conceived and delivered by a Companion under contract. How many men can say that now? Hmm?"

 

There's something wooden and practiced about the words, as though they're something Athos has repeated many times and never quite believed.

 

“So your mother was a whore?” Porthos laughs mirthlessly. “Mine was a slave.”

 

Athos meets Porthos' gaze. “Not quite the same thing.” he says without emotion or inflection.

 

Porthos grimaces. “Not quite.”

 

“Your wife.” Porthos abruptly changes the subject to something marginally less painful. “Did you love her?”

 

Athos blinks a few times. “More than anything. 5 years and I still don't know how to live in a world without her.”

 

He takes a few deep and shaky breathes, reminding himself of what his father always said: _Women weep for the dead; Men avenge them._

 

Porthos looks away, giving Athos a moment to regain his composure.

 

“I don't think we should get Bonnaire to the Core. He'll get nothing for his true crimes.”

 

Athos glances at him.

 

“It ain't right to buy and sell human beings.”

 

“That's the way the verse is, Porthos. It cannot be changed.”

 

“Do you know the conditions of terraforming slaves? Do you know how they're treated? Legally a man can-”

 

“I know all that Porthos. It does not change that there is nothing you can do. Bonnaire has broken trade law, that is what he will be punished for. There is no law preventing a man from owning slaves”

 

Porthos scowls at his friend.

 

“How can you just accept that?!” he growls.

 

“I'm a drunk.” Athos shrugs as best he can while lying down. “God grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change etc. Etc.”

 

“Well, I bet Aramis will agree with me.”

 

“Aramis has the planning ability of a Mayfly.” Athos snorts.

 

Aramis and D'Artagnan return the next day, Bonnaire sulkily cuffed between them. It' easy enough to get him to Paris, though it takes all of Athos' stubbornness to prevent Porthos and Aramis from _selling Bonnaire_ to the slavers. In the end he had had to hand off the prisoner to an Alliance cruiser on Paris itself, rather than at the border of the France District because the longer the man was in their custody the more likely it was that the morons he called friends would actually manage to follow through on their scheme.

 

Their grudges about his ruining their amusing form of justice kept them distracted from what had happened and what they'd learned on Fère for a few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows heavily from the episode Commodities. I hope I gave it enough of a spin to keep it fun. 
> 
> Transcript of the French conversation:  
> G:My dear child, you have returned to me. There is a God. I could never believe that my Olivier was dead. Everyone told me I'd only see you again in heaven but II was certain I would see you again! I never believed you were dead! Never! My litte cabbage why did you disappear? You broke my heart a second time by disappearing just after your brother died.
> 
> A:You're in good health? (He uses the formal 2nd person plural here and she responds in kind. Previously though she had addressed him using 2nd person singular which is generally only used between close friends and family). 
> 
> G: Yes, My lord. 
> 
> A: Is there a Doctor here?
> 
> G: No, but I can go to town and get one if you need one. 
> 
> G: My poor Olivier. 
> 
> Yup. Athos is a sad shell of a man isn't he? Updates should be regular, this is a completed work but I do need top polish and edit things a bit.


	3. An Independant Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scandal involving the most accomplished Companion in the quadrant leaves Athos exposed to new dangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is once again based heavily on the BBC show, specifically the episode: A Rebellious Woman. Except the Cardinal has cats.

A case involving the most accomplished, successful and famous Companion in the France District brings all Athos' secrets once more to the fore.

 

Ninon de Larroque is one of only a handful of French natives who have managed to be successful in that prestigious calling of Companion.

 

At first none of them can understand why they've been ordered to hang around Ninon's beautiful mansion just a stone's throw away from what used to be the Royal Palace (so far no one had figured out what to rename it now that they have a Hereditary Ruler and not a King).

 

Ninon seems to be everything a Companion ought to be. She is heart-stoppingly beautiful, clever and witty, an excellent conversationalist and skilled in the many auxillary arts of Companion-ship such as music, appreciation of literature and even things like mathematics and science.

 

It's Aramis who notices first. “Everyone but us is a woman.” he murmurs.

 

Once he says it it's perfectly obvious. Companions often host salons or parties where the wealthy, the privileged and the talented meet to discuss and debate the important things in life. Usually these events include only the most prominent citizens of whatever planet it happens to be on and it is absolutely unheard of for there to be no men at a public gathering hosted by a Companion.

 

“It's a school.” Ninon says, gliding up gracefully. “I run it for the underprivileged of Paris. Did you know that most families if forced to choose between educating a son or a daughter will choose to pay for the son's education? I merely provide an alternative.”

 

Aramis and Porthos smile at this and begin circulating to speak with the women. Aramis has put on his most charming smile, the one that sets everyone on ease, brightens a room and never ever falters. That smile reminds Athos of his mother whenever she was with his father. He's always wondered whether Aramis has had Companion training of some kind.

 

Athos catches sight of Anne looking pale and pious in a pastel dress before he's distracted by Ninonne's approach.

 

“You appear to disapprove?” she asks bluntly.

 

Athos shakes his head. “No, but it doesn't change anything- what you're doing here.”

 

Ninon sighs. “I am a Companion.” She says, changing the subject.

 

Athos glances at her. “Obviously.”

 

“It is the highest rank a low born girl may aspire to.” she declares.

 

Athos frowns, but does not interrupt what seems to be a practiced speech.

 

“Do you not think it odd Monsieur Athos that a poor man like you friend there-” she jerks her chin at Porthos, “May rise to be a Musketeer and from there perhaps a general or an officer in the Alliance, or perhaps make his fortune as an engineer but that us poor females are told: to rise you must agree to serve men- to sell yourself to men?”

 

Athos sighs. “You need not lecture me on the cruelties of the Guild, My Lady. I understand but,-”

 

“But what?!” Ninon asks, still every inch the poised Companion even as she argues what is clearly her most deeply held belief with a strange man.

 

“But there are men who become Companions are there not? And the Companions themselves often become fabulously wealthy, they control who they see, how long they see them for, and what they do. A man cannot force a Companion to serve him- not without repercussions. Besides which a woman may leave the profession at any time. ” Athos points out.

 

Ninon seems to consider him for a moment. She sighs and nods. “These are all true.”

 

Athos gestures to her beautiful house and enormous library. “All this: The gains of being a Companion. You cannot say you have not benefitted from the system.”

 

She nods shortly, her jaw clenched. “I simply wish to provide a means by which others may rise without crawling to the Guild or some other such place.”

 

Athos nods. “It is a fair goal My Lady. Admirable.”

 

Ninon watches him from the corner of her eye. “And yet....?” she prods.

 

Athos sighs. “What good is mathematics, or philosophy when these girls are going hungry and there is precious little work and even less money? Will it not make them unhappy in the long run to have such dreams and goals when they are still out of reach? Some may rise, but most will not, and those that rise may have managed it on their own.”

 

Ninon shakes her head. “I do not believe that. These girls deserve better. I house and feed those who wish to be here. They do not go hungry.” She looks wistfully around the room. “I would send them to the great schools in the Core if I could.”

 

“And you cannot?”

 

She smiles ruefully. “It is no mystery to me why you are here. You've come to investigate the seditious and disloyal things that the depraved Companion is spouting. The Guild and the Alliance prefer young women to believe that the only way they can rise is lying with their legs spread.”

 

Athos raises his eyebrows at the crudeness of her last sentence and the venom with which she says it. Companions rarely frame what they do in such blunt terms, there's usually talk of spiritual compatibility, and the 12 skills of proper conversation or some such nonsense.

 

“You regret your profession.” It's not a question.

 

Ninon, glances at him again. “As you say,” she replies, once more the calm and poised Companion unruffled by anything “I have benefitted from the fruits of my labour.” She turns to glide away but without thinking he reaches out and grabs her arm.

 

“You must be careful” he hisses “you think yourself safe and secure. You think you have risen so far and so well that you cannot possibly be knocked down. You can. Even the highest of us can fall. Trust me. I know from experience.”

She glances at him, perhaps re-evaluating her previous appraisal, and nods. He releases her.

 

She invites him to dinner. He makes it quite clear that he cannot afford the services of a Companion. She gives a haughty look but grins. It's not the smile of a Companion- serene and calm, promising lust fulfilled and trouble lightened, it's the crooked natural smile of a rebellious woman.

 

He wonders what would have happened if he'd met Ninon 8 years ago. Whether he would have been able to appreciate her then. He certainly appreciates her now. It's a relief somehow to act as himself around someone who understands what it is to be unmade and remoulded into something new.

 

Who understands the freedom that is acting against what you have been made into.

 

Of course becoming a Companion and becoming a Graduate are two very different processes, but the principle is the same: find someone with a talent you require and twist them into what will be most useful.

 

It is perhaps the first time in 5 years that someone other than Porthos, Aramis or D'Artagnan has made him smile. There is something intoxicating in being found of worth by a woman like her.

 

They walk arm and arm back to her house. Athos catches himself smiling without meaning to.

 

“So who was she?” Ninon asks.

 

“Who?” Athos says, forcing levity as though his blood hasn't run cold.

 

“The Companion you knew. Were you a client?”

 

Athos pauses and considers the question. If he tells the truth and Ninon has a mind to discover his real name she'll easily be able to.

 

“My mother.” he says shortly.

 

“Your _mother_ or...”

 

“The woman who gave birth to me.” He corrects himself, he's gotten to used to thinking of her like that because most people he meets these days just don't understand.

 

She nods and watches him from the corner of her eye. “Are you one of Mirabelle's boys?” she blurts out.

 

Athos freezes in shock. How could she have known immediately?

 

Ninon turns and takes his hands in hers. It's funny. Her's are small and soft. They aren't hands that can pilot a ship or shoot a gun or grip a sword. But she'd probably the most truly strong person he's ever met.

 

“It's a story they tell at the Temples. About...” she looks away.

 

There's a long pause. She looks back at him finally and tries to smile even though her face looks unbearably sad.

 

“It's not a nice story.”

 

Athos clears his throat. “That's a shame seeing as my- as Mirabelle is such a _nice_ woman.”

 

Ninon laughs. “She is one of the women who trained me you know- I was terrified of her.”

 

Athos puffs himself up. “Well she was always nice to _me.”_

 

They're in front of Ninon's frankly ridiculously large house now.

 

She smiles. “I'm glad to have met you Athos.”

 

He smiles back at her. For the first time in a long time his mind is free of the Academy, of Anne, of Thomas and his own pathetic self. Ninon is strong and brave and beautiful and just by being near her he feels like perhaps he may be those things as well.

 

This is a woman he could someday trust. This is a woman he could, perhaps, someday love.

 

 

Of course Anne accosts him on his way home.

 

“Olivier!” she calls from behind him.

 

He can't help but wince. Even before they were married she always called him Athos, Olivier was reserved for when she was livid.

 

She grabs his shirt and slams him back against the wall. He lets her.

 

“What are you thinking?” she hisses.

 

“To return to my lodgings? Perish the thought!”

 

She slaps him hard across the face. “You are married and she will be dead soon!” she yells.

 

“Darling, I really feel that mutual attempted murder ought to dissolve the bonds of matrimony-” he's stalling. He doesn't want to face this. Doesn't want to face her and the feelings that fill his chest when he looks at her which are so different from the ones he'd felt earlier smiling as he walking home with Ninon.

 

She grabs the gold chain of the locket that still hangs around his neck and twists it tight. Not choking him, but warning him that she can and will.

 

“She's dead soon.” she repeats.

 

He swallows. “She's not doing anything wrong-” he pleads.

 

“It doesn't matter. That didn't save me, or you, and it certainly won't save her.”

 

“We are still alive.” Athos dryly notes.

 

For a moment her grip on the chain tightens and he really believes that she will kill him. Instead she lets go and steps away in disgust.

 

“Oliver is dead. Anne is dead. It is only Athos and Milady now.”

 

She starts to walk away and then hesitates before calling over her shoulder. “Stay away from her or share her fate!”

 

“I though you wanted me dead?” He calls after her because saying it out loud won't make it any more or less real.

 

She turns to look at him over her shoulder and despite what she said it's Anne that he sees. Anne who held his head in her lap the whole trip from the Academy back to Fère. They'd been on a crowded transport. He'd been terrified and had felt like his skin was on fire but she'd held him close and not let anyone near him. She'd looked down at him with just that expression on her face.

 

He is still Athos. She is still Milady. But he doesn't believe the way she does that they have left their old selves behind so completely.

 

He should go straight back to his lodgings but he knows he only has one bottle of wine tucked between his bunk and the footlocker where he keeps all his worldly possessions (excluding the entire moon of Fère). Tonight a single bottle is not going to be enough.

 

 

 

Aramis and Porthos exchange a glance when they find Athos hunched over a table in one of the worst bars in Paris, well past the point of being able to walk on his own. It's clearly at the point where they'll need to decide whether they'll sit up with him all night or carry him to the infirmary of the garison to get his blood cleaned.  


They choose the Garisson because it's been almost a year since he's been this bad and Porthos is uneasy as he remembers the joke Athos has made about praying for bad moonshine.

 

Once Aramis has finished hooking Athos up to the machines that will ensure he wakes up the next morning, he sits down across from Porthos.

 

They stare at each other.

 

“Fine, I'll say it: He's getting worse.” Porthos mutters darkly.

 

“He's hardly been drunk at all since we got back.” Aramis counters.

 

“An' when he's drunk he's too drunk to stand.” Porthos says with a sigh.

 

Aramis stares blankly at the wall for a moment. “I don't know what to do. It seems like he's getting better and worse at the same time.”

 

Porthos groans. “I think our trip to Fère did a number on him.”

 

Aramis snorts. “Really? The wife returning from the grave and trying to enact revenge for his attempted murder messed him up? Your insight is staggering Porthos.”

 

Porthos shoots Aramis a slightly wounded look.

 

Aramis twists his mouth in apology.

 

“We all got our horror stories Aramis. He got a right to his same as us.”

 

“Ours won't get us killed.”

 

“So we're not going to be talking about all the times some angry husband tried to shoot you?”

 

“That doesn't count!” Aramis huffs, crossing his arms.

 

Porthos grins and then sighs as he looks back at Athos. “Should we tell D'Artagnan?”

 

Aramis considers this for a moment. “Nah. What can he do to make it better?”

 

Porthos nods and sits down on the bench. “I'll sit with him for a while. You go get some sleep.”

 

Aramis pats Porthos on the shoulder before heading out the door and up to the room they sometimes use if they need to sleep over at the Garrison.

 

Athos woke up to find Aramis looking at him in a particularly dissaproving way.

 

It's ridiculous since Athos knows for a fact that this is the man who fucked a Companion during her contract and then jumped out a third story window in order to avoid being discovered. This is not a man who should be passing judgement on anyone.

 

“Care to explain what happened between your leaving Madamoiselle Larroque and our finding you too drunk to stand?” Aramis bites out.

 

Athos groans and rubs his head, recognizing his surroundings. It's the infirmary, he's hooked up to the blood cleaner, again.

 

Anne's face jumps to mind. Her warning about Ninon still crystal clear though everything after he left her is a bit out of focus and uncertain.

 

He doesn't answer Aramis' question and instead growls “Where are my boots?”

 

Aramis jerks his head towards a chair where Athos' boots, hat and jacket had all been neatly piled.

 

Athos unhooks himself and scrambles up off the bed, nearly losing his balance when he stands upright.

 

Aramis doesn't move to help him, even though there's a dicey moment where he nearly falls flat on his face before he manages to start pulling his boots on. Aramis just stands there silently and watches him.

 

That's the thing about Aramis, he can turn the charming warm part of himself off more completely than anyone else Athos has ever met.

 

Looking at him now you'd never suspect this is a man who laughs all night and somehow sleeps with more women than any Lothario without leaving behind a single broken heart.

 

He's standing in front of the door and he's loosened the sword he wears in his scabbard. One hand is one the state of the art plasma gun he carries. His eyes have fallen to the dark bruise that circles Athos' neck.

 

“What happened after you left Ninon last night. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me.”

 

“I encountered an agent of the Cardinal who warned me not to get too close to Ninon since she would be dying soon and it would be a shame if I accidentally got taken with her.”

 

“...Gorram Cardinal! Damn him to the SPECIAL HELL” Aramis shrieks.

 

“Aramis”

 

“You _finally_ meet a nice girl who's also woman enough to deal with your frankly staggering personal issues not to mention the personality which-”

 

“Aramis.”

 

“-let me tell you _does_ leave something to be desired and-”

 

“Aramis!!!”

 

“-the Gorram Cardinal has to go and threaten to kill her it's just-”

 

“ARAMIS!!!”

 

Finally Aramis pauses. “What Athos?”

 

“If you let me out of this room she doesn't have to die.”

 

Aramis slowly steps to the side.

 

Athos pulls his jacket and hat on. “Is the Cardinal attending at court today? Do you know?”

 

Aramis shakes his head. “I'm afraid not. I'm sorry my friend.”

 

Athos nods and is about to stride out into the street, when he pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

 

“Thank you Aramis, for what you did for me last night.”

 

Aramis smiles self deprecatingly. “Porthos sat up with you all night. I just took the morning shift”

 

“Then I owe him my thanks as well.”

 

“Think nothing of it. All for one-”

 

“-And one for all.” Athos finishes.

 

 

There are many that see the Cardinal as a hard and unfeeling man, too cruel to really understand such things as love or kindness or loyalty. These people are wrong.

 

The Cardinal may not have ever felt anything like romantic love for anyone ever, but there is a very short list of persons and things that have earned his undying devotion.

 

The first on the list are his cats. He adores them and their antics. What few free moments he has from his duties or his own needs, he happily spends in their company.

 

The second is, surprisingly enough, Louis Bourbon, the Hereditary Ruler of the France District. Not many would guess that this was so, certainly Louis himself never had the slightest inkling. But, you cannot watch a child grow from infancy to manhood without either coming to love or hate who it becomes. The Cardinal had come to love the foolish, vain, weak man that Louis had become even as he had loved the quiet, unhappy boy he had been.

 

The third and greatest of his loves was the District of France itself. There was nothing he would not do for the sake of France. Her enemies were his enemies, her losses, his losses, he shouldered her losses and surrendered to her his triumphs. For France there was nothing he would not stoop to and nothing he would not rise to overcome.

 

This is why the Alliance is so wary of him. They do not understand cruelty and ruthlessness can serve such unselfish loves. The Alliance has never been able to understand love of any kind, the closest they have ever managed to come is the way a Companion can make a client feel.

 

It is also why Ninon Larroque is going to die.

 

Firstly, and most importantly she is a threat to the France District, as a Companion the Guild has the right to discipline her as they see fit but as a citizen of France she has the right to only be tried in the French court system. This produces an unfortunate moment when the laws of the Alliance proper would come before the rights of the France district. To allow such a trial to be launched and such a conclusion to be reached would set a dangerous precedance that would weaken the independence that the Cardinal had slaved to safe guard even as the previous Hereditary Ruler had died to secure it- not to mention that the Alliance will be ever so greatful for such a powerful and influential figure to quietly disappear on the edge of space rather than face the ignominity she would cast against them should she ever be forced to stand trial.

 

Also, he is certain he once saw her kick a cat in the street.

 

Having made his decision and prepared to send out his agents to see the deed completed, the Cardinal retires to his private study to play with his cats and ponder whether or not to buy the contract of a new Companion now that Adèle is dead and rotting in a shallow grave.

 

He is most displeased to have his quiet interrupted by a musketeer barging through his door.

 

And not just any musketeer, the Cardinal realizes, but the mysterious Athos who the fair Milady has been so preoccupied with. The greatest swordman in the regiment he remembers absently, the disgraced Comte from Fère who is hiding in anonymity among common soldiers.

 

The man falls to his knees. “I beg of you Cardinal. She does not have to die.”

 

Cardinal respects this man he realizes absently. There is bravery in this, and something fine and noble that is rare to see. Even if it is wasted in service of a treasonous whore.

 

He stands to deal with this. “She must. She spouts treason against the Alliance, against the Guild that has raised her up and will bring the wrath of the Gods down on France if I let her live. So, I order her death instead and with it earn the good will and patience of the Alliance with which I may buy protection for those more worthy.”

 

The man stares up at him. Though they have often been no more than a few feet apart it is the first time that the Cardinal has truly looked at the Comte de Fère. His eye is immediately drawn to the scar on his lip that ever so slighly pulls his mouth out of shape. It is a wound a nobleman would rarely suffer and a scar none but the poorest of men would leave visible.

 

“You can't.” Athos gasps.

 

“Do not deign to tell me what I can and cannot do!” The Cardinal roars.

 

Athos is on his feet before the Cardinal has even seen him move. “You will not kill her! SHE NEED NOT DIE for you to achieve your ends!”

 

The Cardinal can summon his Red Guard with a gesture or a word but, Athos is more than a musketeer. He is a Graduate and by the time they had the door open he would have the Cardinal dead if need be.

 

Instead the Cardinal reaches out and flips a switch. A door opens in the bookshelf behind him and he leads Athos through to a room as unlike the rest of the palace as fire and ice. It is completely practical, cold and hard with none of the finery that encrusts everyone and everything wealthy on Paris like golden barnacles.  


“This is my private room. Only those who enter it with me know it even exists. We will not be over heard here.” The Cardinal explains. “Now, I'm listening.”

 

“Strip her of her titles, of her wealth, of everything. Tell her to take what portable wealth she has and to go as far into the Outer Rims as she can to live out the rest of her days under an assumed name. Report her dead and buried to the Alliance.” Athos begs.

 

The Cardinal quirks one corner of his mouth up in an expression that holds nothing of mirth or happiness. “A Companion forced to live as a pauper in the frontier worlds? A fate worse than death some would say.”

 

Athos clenches his jaw. “She is more than just a Companion, sir. Let her choose.” He slowly lowers himself back onto his kness. “I beg of you. If there is a price I can offer in exchange for her life I will gladly pay it.”

 

The Cardinal considers the Musketeer at his feet. The Lord hidden among commoners and riffraff. The hunted animal who still peaks from behind the Lord's eyes.

 

He does not bother to validate what he's said with a response and simply makes a specific gesture which activates the holoprojector in the room.

 

“May I offer a word of advise?” he remarks. Athos does not respond but the man has more pride than sense the Cardinal can already tell. “Never offer all you have. One of these days someone will agree.”

 

The Cardinal sits down at his desk and carefully moves his cat away from the expensive electronics. “I would have thought a man of your experience would understand that.”

 

The holoproject comes to life and shows a video that Athos has never laid eyes on before. It' Anne, half carrying him, half dragging him and fighting like a demon as they escape the Academy. Athos winces as one of the guards gets in a lucky shot with a laser pistol that knocks him away from her and sends him crumpling limply to the floor.

 

She stops and turns on the surrounding guards. They're all dead within seconds. It's only now watching this that he realizes Anne had initially tried to escape without killing anyone.

 

One the screen she drops to her knees and cradles his head in her lap. His face is covered with blood. She's crying and she franticly tries to wipe it away. He watches as she starts in surprise and gathers him up as much as she is able before running out of the frame.

 

He looks impassively back at the Cardinal who is watching him with the intensity of a scientist who's cutting open a new and fascinating specimen. Athos is intimately familiar with that look, he's seen it so many times before.

 

“Did you know you're still listed as a kidnap victim in the Alliance databases? Anyone with information leading to your whereabouts will receive a fortune to rival the one I'll be getting from your precious Ninon.”

 

Athos gulps.

 

“I have chosen” the Cardinal continues “until now, to refrain from informing the Alliance of the origins of my latest protegé and the very interesting education her husband received at their hands. Do not think to make demands of me again, boy, or I may find myself rethinking that position. You may inform Ms. Larroque of the choice before her: If she's not on her way to the outermost reaches of the Outer Rim by this time tomorrow I will have her killed. Now get out.”

 

Athos stands, bows and murmurs his thanks.

 

Athos turns on his heel and mechanically walks out of the palace. He places one foot in front of the other, deliberately keeping his mind empty of all else until he reaches Ninon's door. He stands there in the street for a long time before he can bring himself to knock.

 

 

 

The Next day when Aramis and Porthos return to Ninon's mansion in order to follow up on their enquiries (read: continue flirting with some of the pretty girls who had been receptive to their adavances). They find the place ransacked, the books pulled helter skelter from the shelves and left to lie on the floor, everything is upended and smashed. Worst of all: except for one or two young things that stand bewildered in the reckage of the mansion and who, tears in their eyes, swear they found it this way when they arrived, all the girls and young women who lived and studied there are gone.

 

There is absolutely no sign of Ninon. They exchange identical looks of panic as they think of Athos and the way he had smiled at her two days earlier.

 

They are surprised to find him in the Garisson blithely humming a tune about a man who throws money to starving workers from a space-ship as he spars with D'Artagnan in an attempt to get the boy to use his blade with a little finesse.

 

“Athos.” Porthos begins.

 

D'Artagnan lowers his blade to look at them and Athos takes the moment to send him falling hard into the ground.

 

Athos rests a boot on D'Artagnan chest, carefully not pressing down before he turns to Porthos.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We got some bad news for you” Porthos begins.

 

“It's about Ninon Larroque.”

 

Athos pauses and looks at them warily. “She's not been arrested has she?”

 

Aramis stares at him in shock. Companions do not _get_ arrested, they're governed by their Guild and only their Guild. “No, her house looks like it's been ransacked and she's just...gone.”

 

Athos nods, apparently unconcerned. “Good.”

 

“Good?” D'Artagnan asks from his position on the ground.

 

Athos leans down and meets D'Artagnan's bewildered gaze. “Good. Given what she's been saying I can't imagine the Guild would treat her kindly and it seems to me she was an intelligent enough woman to realize this.” He smiles his cautious closed mouthed smile. “I'm sure she's on her way to the Outer Rim with her girls and all the money she can manage even as we speak.”

 

He performs a complicated flourish with his sword and mumbles out the words to the song he'd been humming before. “....the hero of Canton the man they call Jaayne...” before taking his foot off of D'Artagnan and letting him up and clapping him on the back.

 

Porthos looks at Athos suspiciously. “...Have you been drinking?”

 

Athos favours Porthos with a withering stare, before walking with D'Artagnan back to the table and pouring both of them a cup of water. Which he drinks in a rather pointedly sarcastic way.

 

Aramis is confused and has a sharp premonition that despite the lightness with which Athos is carrying himself, the man is setting himself up for a fall.

 

Porthos has a soaring feeling in his chest, like, maybe, for the first time in a long time, Athos will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wrestled with whether or not Ninon should be a companion since it is basically everything she is against in the show. However, a while back I read an interesting article which pointed out that in the entire Firefly-verse we see 1 woman who is powerful and rich without being a Companion. 
> 
> Also, Firefly-verse does not have the same sort of institutionalized sexism that Ninon is so frustrated with in the show, so I thought that the cultural connotations of the most visibly well respected and educated women in the Firefly-verse being courtesans and prostitutes really needed looking in to. 
> 
> If you're interested in Firefly-verse world building involving the institute of Companions I would recommend the "Heroes in the Sky" series over in the Pacific Rim fandom.


	4. Graduates and Killers All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos makes a serious mistake. Milady comes to help him out. Tragedy strikes.

Things return to normal- for the value of normal that is experienced by members of the Personal Guard who spend half their time as a sort of expensive military wallpaper and the other half chasing criminals and conspiracies through Paris and planet hopping through the France district on one wild goose-chase or another.

 

D'Artagnan becomes fully one of the Inseparables, never far from Porthos' too strong pats on the back, Aramis' teasing or Athos' sharp eyes.

 

His mysterious patroness appears and disappears at random. Thwarting them and humiliating them twice as often as they thwart and humiliate her.

 

Whenever she seems to be behind something Aramis cannot help but notice how much more closely Athos watches d'Artagnan. As though he expects to turn a corner one day and find d'Artagnan has disappeared into thin air.

 

Then, for a time, there's no sign of the mysterious Milady and though this causes everyone else to breathe a little easier it soon becomes obvious that her absense is making Athos nervous.

 

He jumps at the slightest thing and is constantly looking over his shoulder. More than once Porthos has caught him bracing for a blow when what he was receiving what a friendly pat on the shoulder.

 

Not to mention the way he always seems to be rubbing his arms as though his very bones pain him.

 

Porthos wonders if has something to do with the scars. He'd only noticed them the night he'd had to sit with Athos as the machines rid his body of the alcohol that was poisoning it.

 

They are whisker thin and so faint that Porthos is surprised he noticed them at all. They run in straight lines and right angles up Athos' arms and across his chest.

 

Porthos has never seen anything like them anywhere ever.

 

He's pretty sure that Aramis hasn't noticed them, because Aramis simply wouldn't be able to resist questioning Athos about them if he had noticed.

 

Porthos, however, understands that some things from the past are best left unexamined and left to gather dust tucked away in the dark corners of the mind.

 

The storm breaks all at once and in an unexpected way.

 

D'Artagnan receives an offer of admission from a prestigious Alliance sponsored Academy in the Core.

 

For reasons no one can understand it sends Athos into a fit of rage the likes of which they've never witnessed before, because at every other turn when something like this had happened Athos had withdrawn to the bottom of a bottle.

 

This time he was terrifyingly sober as he threatened to drown D'Artagnan in the horses water through if he so much as entertained the notion of accepting the offer.

 

D'Artagnan understandably did not take this particularly well, and Aramis had to running tackle him and pin him to the ground to get him to calm down. Porthos, meanwhile, grabs Athos around the middle and carries him out into the street.

 

When he releases his friend. Athos jumps away like a cat splashed with water.

 

“Athos.” Porthos says lowly, trying to get him to calm down, and to just _explain_.

 

Athos darts forward trying to get past him but Porthos spreads both arms and effectively seals off the entry to the Garrison's court yard where he can hear Aramis trying to talk D'Artagnan down.

 

“Athos.” Porthos repeats. He doesn't move towards his friend. “What do you know about this school?”

 

Athos stares up at him. For a moment he looks like he did that night they'd found him at the bar with a bruise around his neck two days before Ninon disappeared.

 

“Athos.” he demands a bit more forcefully.

 

“Do you-” Athos begins.

 

“C'mon Athos. Just tell me. It'll stay between us if it has to I swear.”

 

Athos frowns. “I'm too sober to tell this story.”

 

“Wanna find a bar then?”

 

“I'll never be drunk enough to tell this story, but for your sake I promise to make a valiant effort to achieve that level of intoxication.”

 

The amble over to a bar. It's not one of their usual places but that works to their favour this time. Porthos has a feeling this is not a conversation he wants interrupted by well meaning aquaintances.

 

Athos chugs two fingers of their purest moonshine before ordering a couple bottles of wine for the table.

 

Porthos takes a sip of wine and then crosses his arms and stares at Athos expectantly.

 

Athos licks his lips and starts again. “Do you remember that story from a year or two ago? About the school for geniuses and how....” Athos trails off looking at him for some sort of acknowledgement or understanding.

 

Porthos nods but doesn't say anything He vaguely remembers laughing about something like that with Aramis.

 

“Well...” Athos continues. “It's the school that D'Artagnan has just been offered a place at. I've...known people who were accepted there. They leave and they never come back. Eventually they stop calling, writing, everything. They disappear as though they've never existed in the first place.”

 

He _can_ remember the story now. He'd recounted it to Aramis and Athos because he'd thought it was funny and unbelievable. It turns his stomach now, to know that Athos had lost people to that place and Porthos had sat across from him laughing about it.

 

“God, Athos...I'm... Why didn't you..?”

 

Athos just shakes his head and drinks straight from the bottle. “I'm a drunk, I don't need people thinking I'm a madman as well.”

 

He takes off his hat and twists it in his hands.

 

Porthos feels like he is standing on the brink of something. As if everything that's been dancing on the periphery of his life for years is finally going to come out into the open.

 

Athos opens his mouth to speak, and a large group of Red Guards tumble through the doors. He recoils shutting his mouth with an audible click.

 

Porthos looks over his shoulder and curses. Trust their luck to put them in the only Red Guard bar within mile of the Musketeers Garrison.

 

He locks eyes with Athos and jerks his head towards the back door. Maybe they can sneak out before they're spotted.

 

A yell goes up from the Red Guards the minute they stand and Porthos winces. No such luck.

 

Someone grabs Porthos and hauls him back towards the front of the bar.

 

He looks at Athos who no one has bothered grabbing yet and his blood runs cold. Usually in moments like these Athos looks put upon and deeply annoyed by how inconsiderate the universe is. Right now he looks blank, as though someone has flipped a switch and everything that make Athos _Athos_ has just gone.

 

One of the Red Guards tries to grab Athos and the statue comes to life.

 

Porthos is intimately famiiliar with the ways that his brother's fight.

 

Aramis is showy and graceful- he fights for an audience and he always looks good doing it.

 

D'Artagnan fights with a desperate rage that sets his natural talent finesse against his desire to simply crush his opponent to nothing.

 

Athos usually fights lazily, no gesture wasted, completely unconcerned, he finishes the fight as quickly as he can. It's rare that something happens to make him reveal the limits of his abilities but when it happens it's always a sight to see. There is no finer swordsman in the galaxy than Athos.

 

This fight is like that only it's as though everything that make Athos _Athos_ has been twisted into something terrible.

 

Athos fights the way he always fights, no gesture wasted, no movement unnecessary. Only whereas Athos is usually the most likely to fight with honour and mercy now there's nothing but cold unfeeling brutality made all the worse for the fact that it doesn't even occur to him to draw his dagger or his sword.

 

He just rips the Red Guardsnear him apart, moving faster than should be possible, anticipating every shift and movement of his opponent.

 

The entire thing takes less than a minute, and then Athos is standing there staring at the bodies of the men who were not smart enough to run as though he doesn't understand how they got there.

 

“Athos?” Porthos asks.

 

Athos turns to look and him and the confusion drains from his face replaced by relief.

 

“Porthos!” Athos starts to smile but frowns as he takes in the spray of blood on Porthos' doublet and face and the way his friend seems braced to run.

 

It takes him a moment to realize Porthos is afraid of him. Suddenly ice water is flowing through his veins. He looks around at the bodies again and then looks down at himself.

 

He's covered in blood. His hands are red to the elbow.

 

Suddenly he can't stop shaking. He can't.

 

Porthos starts towards him, when he doubles over but Athos sticks a hand out in warning for him not to come closer.

 

Then he fall to his knees and vomits on the floor. He'd done that. He'd been so sure that it had to be done as he was doing it but these were just men, they were just stupid thugs hired by the Cardinal. They couldn't have really hurt him.

 

Porthos picks his way over to Athos and gently loosens Athos hands from where they're tearing at his hair.

 

His entire body is shaking so hard it was more accurate to call them spasms than tremors.

 

“I didn't mean to do that.” Athos says desperately.

 

It's eery, the last couple of minutes it had seemed like a stranger was wearing his brothers face but the way he said that was so familiar that Porthos wasn't sure whether he should relax or put himself more on edge.

 

“Well, ya did.” Porthos answeres, looking around at the now deserted bar and the bodies (or bits of bodies) that were lying around them. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

 

Athos nods and with a bit of difficulty stands up. Porthos hands him his hat from where it had fallen off during the fight. Luckily, there's no blood on it.

 

Athos puts it on and starts to make his way towards the back door. He's still visibly shaking from half a room away.

 

The back door leads out into a deserted alley.

 

There's a line of washing hanging just above their heads. Porthos snags a sheet from above and then puts a hand on Athos' shoulder to stop his mechanical march back towards the main road.

 

“Ye can't go out into the street covered in blood mate.” He hands Athos his hat and prized doublet. Down in his shirt-sleeves and britches he looks like any number of day labourers who fill the city.

 

“Take your hat off and then I'll roll you in this sheet and you'll be just another corpse being moved for burial and I'll be just another schmuck with the shitty job of moving ye.”

 

Athos' gaze is sharp again when Porthos proposes this. “Your earing sets you apart. Put it in the pocket of your doublet.” he suggests.

 

Porthos grimaces and does as he's told. Athos hugs the little bundle of clothing to him and then calmly allows Porthos to wrap him in the sheet and throw him over one shoulder.

 

“Ye alright?” Porthos whispers just before he darts out of the alley and back into the main street.

 

There's a pause and he hears Athos answer somewhere from the general vicinity of his lower back. “No.”

 

Porthos' heart is in his throat the entire trip back to the Garrison. He keeps expecting someone to accuse him of being party to what just happened. Luckily, even in the worst parts of Paris a large man carrying a corpse wrapped in a bloody sheet gets a wide berth.

 

He slips back into the Garisson through a back entrance and winds his way up to Athos' room through the back hallways usually only used by servants or paper pushers (and really was there even a difference?).

 

He's just about at Athos' room when he runs right into Aramis.

 

“Porthos!” Aramis says with a grin before he takes in the giant's appearance and his face falls.

 

“What happened is that-?”

 

“Yeah, it's Athos, don't worry, he's alive but we need to get him out of sight and quick.”

 

Aramis nods and steps out of the way to let Porthos rush into Athos' room.

 

Porthos puts his friend down. It takes a moment for the man to squirm his way out of the sheet.

 

Aramis steps inside and leans against the door. It's a bit cramped with the three of them in such a small space. The barracks for the soldiers include a tiny bedroom and an even tinier bathroom. Guests are not encouraged which is why Aramis and Porthos both live elsewhere.

 

“I've called D'Artagnan to watch the door. He should be here any second.” He takes in Athos' blood crusted appearance and exclaims. “Lord in Heaven what happened?”

 

Porthos tries to convey the enormity of the situation though a glance alone as he says. “We were talking in a bar and ran into some Red Guards.”

 

“And?” Aramis asks.

 

“And I killed them.” Athos answers.

 

Porthos gulps and turns to look at his friend. “Without even drawing your blade. I ain't never seen someone fight like that.”

 

Athos stares at him blearily. “Consider yourself lucky then.”

 

“You _killed_ them? They're dead?” Aramis clearly was having trouble wrapping his head around the notion that the most level headed of them had apparently temporarily lost his mind and unleashed a swath of carnage on a group of unsuspecting soldier from a rival batallion.

 

“No, Aramis, when I said 'killed' I meant the other kind where no one died and we all sang folk songs together.” Athos bites out.

 

His hands have started shaking again but when Porthos reaches out to hold them steady he jerks away.

 

“I need a bath.” Athos declares.

 

Porthos and Aramis don't move and continue to stare at him.

 

“I said: I need a bath!” Athos repeats.

 

Aramis gestures expansively at the bathroom door. “By all means, my friend, go ahead.”

 

Athos glares at his brothers but they appear completely unmoved. Finally he sighs and heads to the bathroon tossing Porthos' doublet in the man's lap and his own jacket at Aramis's head as he passed by.

Once he is gone Aramis grabs Porthos and hisses. “WHAT HAPPENED?!”

 

Porthos shakes his head. “I dunno. We were talking about the school and why Athos was so against it, and he said that he knew people that had gone and once they'd gone after a while no one ever heard from them again, then these Red Guards walk in and make us as Musketeers. They grab me and Athos just... snapped. Ripped them apart with his bare hands.”

 

Aramis stares at him incredulously. “Porthos, Athos is a great warrior but not even you could tear apart a half-dozen Red Guards barehanded.” he says uncertainly.

 

“Well, Athos did. He just moved so fast and was so fucking brutal they never stood a chance. Most of them just ran.”

 

Aramis half sits, half collapses onto the bed next to Porthos. “Christ.”

 

Porthos nods.

 

“He just went blank first. Just...nothing and then one of 'em tried to grab him and...” Porthos trails off and stares up at Aramis. “I ain't never seen something like that, he just gave everything he could into killing those men.”

 

Aramis stares at the door to the bathroom.

 

“So he killed them. What do we do?” Aramis states, obviously keen to distract himself with the necessary practicalities.

 

Athos killed today. They were his friends, but they were also agents of the law. This put them in an uncomfortable position.

 

Porthos shrugs and stares at Aramis completely at a loss for word. “He said he didn't mean to.” it comes out sounding like a plea.

 

Athos has always been the noble one, moral to a fault, he did the right thing no matter the personal cost to himself. . Aramis and Porthos exist in a more tangled and confused state of things with some things that the law considers unforgivable not even worthy of note and other things that were technically legal being considered unforgivable.

 

Neither of them are sure whether what Athos has done is something they should try and ignore or something they should condemn.

 

Athos storms out of the room dripping wet but nevertheless dressed in his linen shirt-sleeves and breeches.

 

“I need to consider what to do. Please Leave.”

 

“Athos...” Pothos says looking at Aramis uncertainly and getting ready to disagree.

 

“Leave a guard on the door if you must, but let me take some time to myself to decide what to do.”

 

Aramis shrugs, so Porthos nods. “We'll leave someone on the door.”

 

Athos nods. “I don't intend to run, but I understand.”

 

Aramis and Porthos stand and shuffle out, just before he closes the door behind him Porthos leans back and asks: “Athos, are you going to be alright?”

 

Athos bites his lip and blinks very quickly before answering, his voice rough. “Probably not Porthos, but, your concern is very much appreciated.”

 

Porthos smiles wryly at him. “I'm gonna take the first watch, you change your mind about wanting to be alone...?”

 

“I won't. But, Thank You.”

 

Porthos shuts the door. D'Artagnan is leaning against the railing directly in front of the door looking at the pair of them expectantly.

 

“So? Are you going to tell me what's so important I had to leave my lunch half-eaten to get over here and stand in front of a door?”

 

Aramis rubs his hand across his face. “Athos killed some Red Guards this afternoon.”

 

“What?!” D'Artagnan jumps to attention immediately. “Why?”

 

Aramis shrugs and looks at Porthos.

 

Porthos tries to find the words. “He just didn't hold himself back. I think he went mad for a few minutes and that was enough to....”

 

D'Artagnan's mouth is hanging open. “What are we going to do?” he breathes.

 

Aramis reaches out and pats his shoulder. “We're leaving a man at his door for now, until we decide that. Porthos has offered to take the first shift. You and I will go get a drink.”

 

D'Artagnan seems to be in shock as Aramis leads him away.

 

“D'Artagnan!” Pothos call after them as quietly as he can. “You understand you can't breathe a word of this to anyone?”

 

D'Artagnan stares wide eyed but nods.

 

Porthos leans against the wall and tries to imagine a future where they all come out of this okay. He can't seem to manage it, no matter how hard he tries.

 

 

 

Milady stares in horror at the vidscreen in her dressing room. The vicious murder of several off-duty Red Guards in a dive bar is the main story. The witnesses aren't able to give a full description of the perpetrators because they were sitting in the far corner where it was darkest, but therre description of the events leaves no doubt in Milady's mind: Athos had done this.

 

Why he would do something so monumentally stupid she couldn't say but he had. It would be maybe a few days before the Alliance and the Academy swooped in for the kill.

 

Whatever hatred she may still harbour for her husband she loved him too much to let him be dragged off to that place. She'd made a promise to young Olivier de La Fère and she's not about to break it now.

 

She begins stripping off the ridiculous (but very beautiful) France-style dress she was wearing, peeling away her corset and the heavy layers of petticoats that make her appear beautiful and formidable but which will slow her down and make her conspicuous if she wears them now. She digs into the very back of her closet.

 

She'd adopted the France-styles early on. The only hint of the sleek Core styles is in the clean lines she chooses for her bodices, but hidden away are a few pieces of clothing she'd kept in the superstitious hope that if she had them she wouldn't ever need them.

 

The first is a strange mesh of body armour and holsters so that nearly every plane of her body will conceal a gun or a knife or some a vial of the poisons she prefers these days.

 

The second is a set of cover-alls in the exact shade of forget-me-not blue. It's her favourite colour, one she hasn't worn since the day Athos tried to kill her. When you grow up you must learn to put away childish things.

 

It is the sort of outfit that a repairwoman might choose. Unremarkable, forgotten as soon as seen. She stands in front of the mirror.

 

The last thing is her hair. She's already set it in one of the elaborate court styles, but it's subtle enough that it might not be noticed. She sighs and begins yanking the pins out and roughly trying to comb the hair spray out with her fingers.

 

She ties it off in a simple bun and then covers it with a scrap of linen tied like a kerchief. She scrubs her face of all makeup.

 

Only some one who is looking for her would recognize the elegant and beautiful Milady Clarick de Winter in the drab creature who now stands before her mirror.

 

Satisfied with her transformation she leaves her house quietly, if any one is watching they will not see her go. Once on the street she doesn't bother trying to control her panic and her anger and her fear. She runs as fast as she can towards the Garrison because she loves Athos just as much as she hates him, and he probably doesn't realize yet what he's brought down on both their heads.

 

There's something freeing in being who she is. She discovered it after she left Fère. The power of acting as ruthless as she'd always been trained to be is exhilerating, even more so because they couldn't make her cruel. The only one who ever broke her was the one that she _let_ break her.

 

She doesn't bother with lies or misdirection when she gets to the Garrison- she just cuts them down like a knife through butter. She doesn't kill any because it is foolish to discard something that might one day be useful but she incapacitates them with extreme prejudice.

 

There's a man at the door she knows is Athos'. He's big and, if she remembers right, unusually strong. It doesn't help him when she decided to take him down.

 

Milady stand above the man's unconscious body and consideres driving a knife through his eye. Something messy and terrible. He's one of Athos' beloved friends the one he calls brothers. She knows he'd cry for this man if she killed him.

 

As much as she loves Athos, she hates him just as much.

 

In the end she decides it's not worth the time or trouble. She knocks politely on her husband's door. Her entrance was so quick and so quiet she doubts he heard a thing, especially considering he goes out of his way to ignore the talents they'd given him.

 

The second the door is open she's through it and has it locked behind her.

 

Faced with her husband for the first time in months she feels no compunction about winding back and slapping him as hard as she can across the face.

 

“You fool!” she hisses. “What have you done.”

 

Hiss head had snapped back from the force of her blow but he doesn't wince. He's not pretending now either.

 

“A mistake. I just reacted when they grabbed me.”

 

It's all Milady can do to keep from sighing heavily at that. Athos did not have the correct psychological profile for the conditioning to work in the way it was intended, it's why his creators had been planning to dispose of him.

 

Instead she nods. She understands to a lesser extent what he experienced, the way that once you allowed yourself to embrace the conditioning you found your actions exceeded what you intended.

 

He looks at her impassively. “Was that what it was when you killed Thomas?”

 

She smiles at him and leans in close. “No. I planned every moment of his death.” she whispers in his ear.

 

There's a muscle that twitches by his mouth when he hears that but he maintains his control and nods.

 

She darts around him and sits on his bed.

 

“Have you come to kill me?” he asks in much the same tone he'd enquire as to her opinions on the weather.

 

She can't help but snort at that. Her dear Olivier, still as blind to what's not spelled out for him as ever.

 

“No.”

 

“May I ask why?”

 

“I thought I'd succeeded in killing you on Fère. There was nearly a week when I was certain you were dead, and at first I felt nothing- no joy or satisfaction, just...empty. One night, I looked up at the sky and knew that you weren't anywhere and the verse itself seemed diminished by your absence and then I realized: there will be no peace for either of us until we are both dead.”

 

Athos has watched her without judgement during this speech, but once she finishes he nods and reaches down to hold her hand.

 

“We are both damned to never love another.” he concedes.

 

She smiles softly at him. It is a comfort to know that he will understand, even if he will never concede the ground that she has freely abandoned, he understands why she is what she is.

 

“Why are you here than?” he asks.

 

“To save you as best I can.”

 

He smiles at her. The first smile she's had from him since the day she choked the life out of that insect Thomas.

 

“You can't. There's nothing even you can do.”

 

She sighs. “You have three options Athos: Run but, now that you are a fugitive without the protection of the France district's autonomy the hunt will be more ruthless, the moment you stop moving they will have you.”

 

She glances at him, he nods to show he understands.

 

“Allow yourself to be taken and returned to the Academy, I know perhaps your sense of justice may consider this the proper course of action but know that if you are captured my own security would be at risk.”

 

“I would not do that to you Anne.” he reassures her.

 

There's a long pause.

 

“And?” he prompts.

 

She swallows and meets his gaze frankly. “Die. The Academy only has use for the living. They wouldn't even bother to send someone for your corpse. ”

 

He smiles wryly at her. “And here you said you weren't going to kill me. Tsk. Lies, such filthy lies.”

 

“You can't tell me it wouldn't be better than going back. I don't have to do it, but I promised you.” she hates the weakness that causes her voice to break. “I promised you that you'd never have to go back. I needed you to know that you could choose this.”

 

He looks at her with as much love as he ever did at Fère. “I understand, and I thank you.”

 

 

She unzips her coveralls to reveal the weapons. “I brought everything I could think of, guns, knives, poison. I can make it completely painless.”

 

He reaches over and takes her hand. Kisses it.

 

“We have both learned that I cannot be but what I am, and you would not love me so if I were otherwise.”

 

Her heart sinks she knows what he is going to say.

 

“Honour demands that I do it myself.”

 

“But Athos-” she cries.

 

He puts a finger to her lips and shakes his head.

 

She grabs him and pull him into a tight embrace. He will be dead soon and she will need this memory of how he felt when he was hers again, even if just for a moment, to sustain her through the years. She is not ashamed of the tears on her face now. They are not weakness; they are strength. Athos has only ever helped to make her strong.

 

She holds him as closely as she can. She saved him once. He killed her. She killed him. She wishes she could save him one more time.

 

Because what he said is as true as what she had discovered: They are both cursed to only ever love the other, and when he goes, she will find the verse greatly diminished by his absence.

 

Finally she lets go, and he reaches up to stroke the side of her face.

 

“I have loved you Anne. Farewell.”

 

She tries to muster up a smile but it is probably sad and watery. “I have loved you Olivier. I hope you make it quick for yourself and do not fall into your usual dramatics.”

 

He kisses her softly. She hands him her best pistol. If he's got any sense he'll use a bullet. Laser pistols don't let you commit suicide without a great deal of mess. And there's too much a chance of survival with things like rope or gas or poison.

 

Regretfully she stands and leaves.

 

She wants to scream. She wants to hurt Athos for hurting her by bringing this unfortunate turn of events down upon both their heads.

 

She saw what happened to him when he believed himself forced to live in a world without her. He was an idiot to let this happen.

 

As she passes the prone body of his close friend she does not bother to resist the urge to kick him as hard as she can. It is very satisfying and she has to force herself to stop because she hurts so much right now that she'd like nothing more than to keep kicking till he died, Athos would probably see the body before he did what he had to. One last punishment for his betrayal...

 

But, she doesn't do that because, the man is Athos' friend and she is his wife and it would be wasteful to destroy something that might one day be useful.

 

She slips into the city again. No one sees her leave the Garrison and no one sees her arrive at her house. Four different spies do see her when she leaves it an hour later in full court dress to go and meet with the Cardinal. They follow her and note no obvious sign of distress as she watches the streets go by.

 

 

 

When Aramis and D'Artagnan return from the bar that evening they find the Garrison is complete upheaval. A ship's mechanic (judging by her attire) had barged in, beat everyone she could find into submission and then disappeared.

 

They don't have to say a word, they both break into a run at the same time. Porthos is unconscious outside of Athos' door. Aramis kicks it open in his panic.

 

The room is empty. Athos' hat, gun, uniform, and sword are all neatly piled on his bed. There is also a holorecorder blinking on the pillow to indicate a new recording.

 

Tentatively, Aramis pushes the button.

 

Suddenly Athos is in front of them, only visible from the chest up but looking just like he always does.

“My name is Athos of the King's Musketeers and I here confess to the murders of several members of the Red Guards on this day at 3 o'clock in the afternoon by Paris Capital time. There is no excuse for such an act and so I offer none. Only that a temporary madness took me, though I know that will be cold comfort to their families.

 

Knowing I am guilty and deserving of death I have taken the liberty of saving us all some time and trouble. By the time anyone sees this I will be dead. Look for my body in the Seine, off of the jetty by Notre Dame des Astronauts. Given the rivers currents that's where it should take me.

 

I leave to Aramis my pistol and any clothes of mine he has a use for, since he is closest to my size. To D'Artagnan I bequeath my hat and my books since I know he will find a good use for both. Porthos may have my wine and the gold handled sword which I know you have often admired.

 

Do not grieve for me my friends. My sole regret is how this will grieve you, but I could not remain myself after what I had done. I was not brave enough to face you in the shared knowledge of my guilt.”

 

In the Holoprojector Athos lifts one corner of his mouth in the familiar half smile.

 

“I had no place I could be, but now I've found Serenity my firends. Soon, it will all be over for me, I hope that knowing this you will not grieve overmuch but...it you find yourself inconsolable I suggest you turn to the famous poem from Earth-that-was by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

 

Adieu, mes amis. There can be no greater honour than to have served with you and been called your brother.”

 

the holo ends and D'Artagnan gingerly reaches over to where Aramis' stands hunched in grief.

 

“Perhaps we can still catch him.” he suggests softly.

 

Aramis shakes his head, and points at the time stamp at then end of the recording. “This was two hours ago.” He cannot contain his tears and finds himself sitting on the floor bawling. D'Artagnan sits next to him and doesn't say a word.

 

Some time later there's a stirring outside and Porthos limps into view. “What happened?” he asks.

 

Aramis cannot speak but points to the projector.

 

Porthos presses play. The words echo through the little room once more: “My name is Athos of the King's Musketeers and I here confess to the murders of several members of the Red Guards...”

 

“Oh no.” Porthos breathes.

 

After that the world takes on an unreal quality for them all. Once they have handed the projection over to Treville there is nothing for them to do.

Every treasured possession that Athos held dear is divided up between them or gifted to a Musketeer that could use it.

 

They find themselves at a loss. Sitting around too grieved to work but too numb to grieve.

 

There's no body yet, but a security cam on one of the bridges shows Athos jumping with weights on his ankles.

 

Grimauld arrives the second day after his death. They are all surprised to see her, more surprised still that she arrives in the full morning outfit of a great lady, crepe veil and all. They still have not found his body but there is nothing to give them any hope that he yet lives. Athos was ever a man to accomplish a task once he had set his mind to it.

 

It is a full week since they found the note before they find the body. Grimauld insists that she be the one to identify him.

 

“He is my Olivier, and I will not look away from him.” She yells through her tears when Aramis dares suggest that it might spare her feelings not to see his corpse.

 

She returns inconsolable, because it was him and that tiny little spark of hope they'd all secretly been fostering is gone.

 

They refuse to delay the funeral another week despite the fact that Companion Mirabelle has demanded to be present when they bury the man who was not her son.

 

The funeral is only a week and a half after he killed the guards.

 

The funeral itself is a subdued affair attended only by the Musketeers. Mirabelle sweeps in- a formidable woman who is still striking in despite being past her youth. She stares dispassionately at the coffin. Grimaud arrives a little later, arm in arm with another woman in full mourning who has her veil over her face. When the housekeeper catches sight of the Companion she bristles and though held back from by the veiled woman cannot be prevented from spitting in the face of the woman who gave Athos life, if little else.

 

Treville speaks a few words, Aramis and Porthos cannot help but try and fill in the gaps of who Athos was, but all speeches at funerals are the same: They were good, we loved them, they are gone.

 

Grimaud throws the first handful of dirt, Aramis and Porthos follow her. There's a pause to see if Mirabelle will partake but she clearly turns her nose up at the backwater custom. D'Artagnan adds his handful of dirt after a pause.

 

The veiled woman approaches the grave her shoulders shaking with unseen tears. She drops a little bouquet of the blue flowers so common on Fère into the hole. When she tosses the dirt, the sound against the coffin has a ring of finality.

 

Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan all stay to watch their brother buried. Grimaud shakes her head and leaves. Soon they are alone but for the grave digger and the veiled woman.

 

After some time, even the grave diggers are gone. It seems there is nothing more to be done. She lifts her veil when she exits onto the street and D'Artagnan cannot help the yell that leaves him as he recognizes his own patroness- the Cardinal's spy. Their hands are all on their swords but Grimauld emerges from where she was waiting at the gate and takes the hand of Milady de Winter. Together they walk off into the Parisian streets.

 

Later on Grimaud stops by the barracks to inform them that she has been left in charge of the Fère estates, holding them in trust until her death, and that as the manager she has instructions to provide a stipend for each of the four of them, with extra available should they require some greater sum. She smiles at them and with hands clutched to her chest declares: “My Olivier was lucky in friends, for he loved you all so.” She kisses each of them on the cheek and then disappears presumably headed for a shuttle that will take her back to the moon she now owns.

 

Grief seems to have made Porthos and Aramis despondent and inactive but it has made D'Artagnan restless. He finds he cannot sleep and instead paces his room, replaying that last day over and over again.

The argument in the morning, the discovery of the murders in the afternoon, the hours spent with Aramis pointlessly trying to decide what they ought to do, the chaos at the Garrison and finding the empty room with it's final message.

 

It's nearly a month before D'Artagnan goes looking for that old poem Athos had mentioned. He reads it impatiently. It does not seem the sort of thing Athos would ever recommend. He was a pragmatic realist and while he most certainly did not sleep in his grave, neither did he live on in the winds that blow or the glints off snow. D'Artagnan skims the rest of the poem until his eye falls on the final two lines: “Do not stand at my grave and cry/ I am not there. I did not die.”

 

Against all intructions left both in the message and the poem D'Artagnan cannot help but weep over that dusty tome of Earth-that-was literature. It seems a cruel final note, because perhaps Athos really did hope the poem would bring them closure. It actually is just the sort of thing that Aramis would appreciate.

 

But.

What if he really isn't in that grave? What if he didn't really die?

 

None of the Musketeers had seen the body. They'd just agreed that Grimauld could identify it, but none of them had seen it.

 

D'Artagnan finally asks the question that his been bothering him.

 

“Aramis, what was that Athos said at the end of his message? About Serenity?”

 

Aramis stirs himself from where he had been in deep contemplation of the table top and blinks at D'Artagnan in confusion. “It's from a famous song. Haven't you heard it?”

 

D'Artagnan shakes his head.

 

Aramis sighs. “It's a Browncoat song, their final cry of defiance after the battle of Serenity.”

 

“How does it go?” D'Artagnan asks.

 

To his surprise it's Porthos who starts to sing lowly and a bit solemnly.

 

“ __Take my love.  
Take my land.  
Take me where I cannot stand.  
I don't care,  
I'm still free.  
You can't take the sky from me.

 __Take me out to the black.  
Tell em I ain't comin' back.  
Burn the land  
And boil the sea.  
You can't take the sky from me.

__ There's no place I can't be  
Since I found Serenity.  
But you can't take the sky from me.” 

  
  


After the battle of Serenity Valley, the land of that planet was scorched and they say the seas themselves boiled that night under the laser fire” he explains. 

  
  


D'Artagnan frowns. “What's it about? Is it just about the battle?” 

Aramis shrugs. “Depends on who you are. Some say it's about how no matter what the Alliance does the Browncoats will always be free so long as they have their spaceships. Others say it's a Browncoat bowing to the inevitable and choosing death rather than giving up his freedom.” 

  
  


D'Artagnan frowns turnign over the two clues in his mind. “I am not there I did not die...you can't take the sky from me.” 

  
  


In the vastness of space Constance Bonnancieux mistress of the ship The Queen's Seamstress looks across the table at the freshly hired guard. 

“So, why's a man who talks as posh as you workin' as a guard? Hey? You ever even been to the Outer Rims before?” she cannot resist asking. “I mean s'all very well being trained with a sword and pistol but if ye can't use 'em...” 

  
  


The dark haired man glances at her incredulously. “If I am a fraud I must be an eminently foolish one. The Rim is no place for false bravado.” 

  
  


She rests her cheek in her hand and grins. “I s'pose ye just seem too kind and well mannered to be a mercen'ry is all.” 

 

He glances at her from the corner of his eye and forces a smile, the scar on his lip pulling one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other. 

  
  


“My dear lady, you would be shocked to learn of the cut throat antics of the nobility.” 

  
  


She laughs and he gazes past her out into the stars. This time, at least, he is not the one left behind in a verse much diminished, even if his horizons have shrunk to the size of single trading ship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Uses d'Artagnan as a human shield*
> 
> Well, that's it (for now, and possibly forever). I hope it was an interesting ride for you guys. I had a lot of fun writing this fic.


	5. Porthos Mourns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos deals with the aftermath of Athos' death.

“Do you recognize this man?”

 

The Alliance officer slides a picture across the desk.

 

Porthos glances at it but doesn't pick it up.

 

“Looks a tad familiar.” he concedes.

 

His hair was shaved and the scar on his mouth was missing. He was probably too young to grow a beard, but it was nevertheless unmistakably Athos.

 

It was Athos, a decade younger and a lifetime more innocent staring out of the page in pale and sickly misery.

 

“S'pose it looks a bit like a friend of mine what died recently.”

 

“This would be the Musketeer known as Athos?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Do you have any knowledge of his true identity.”

 

“No. Din't Ask.”

 

“Where's he buried?”

 

“The service was here but one of his family came and took the body to be buried on his home planet.”

 

The Alliance official glares.

 

“Did he speak to you about his life or what prompted him to commit suicide?”

 

“Nah, we just worked together. He killed hisself 'cause he was guilty of murder and wanted to spare us the trial I expect.”

 

The Alliance officer sighs and nods.

 

“Thank you Mr. Porthos, you've been most helpful.”

 

Porthos forces a smiles and nods. “Cheers.”

 

It's all he can do not to dash out of there.

 

He finds himself out in the streets on his own and he doesn't know where to go. Since Athos' death everything had felt off-balance, particularly at the Garrison. It had been the 3 of them for so long that Athos gapes between him and Aramis like a big fucking hole. A failure. His failure.

 

Aramis has been too good to say it but he knows it's his fault. He took Athos to the bar with the Red Guards instead of one of their usual places and he got knocked out which allowed Athos to get past him.

 

He fingers the heavy gold handle of the sword Athos had left him. It's remarkable. He wants more than anything to hear that upper class sarcastic drawl and some cutting remark about the events of the day but...

 

It's all Porthos can do to keep from weeping in the streets.

 

Athos had left them all generous monthly stipends from his property on Fère- maybe it was time to start putting them to use. Time to build a life for himself outside of soldiering. But, he couldn't leave Aramis, could he? And who would look after d'Artagnan? God know Aramis isn't particularly nurturing and the kid has the self-preservational instinct of a drunken lemming.

 

But, it wouldn't hurt to take a few classes, would it? In preparation for the day when they wouldn't need him anymore.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess who's a liar? I decided to post this as a continuation of this story rather than a sequel because otherwise I would be ending this story on a pretty ambiguous note so, here we are. 
> 
> Sad Porthos is sad.


	6. Aramis Mourns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis is not great at dealing with feelings. He makes some choices and finds new allies.

“Do you recognize this man?” The Alliance official asks.

 

Aramis picks up the picture. “Of course, that's my dear friend Athos.”

 

“You've only ever known him by that name?”

 

“Yes, did he have another?”

 

“Did he ever speak to you about the time he spent in the Core?”

 

“No, Athos never spoke of anything that did not pertain to our duties as Guards.”

 

The man tsks.

 

“Do you know whether any event prompted him to commit murder?”

 

“He was upset, had gotten into an argument with a new recruit. Other than that no, nothing.”

 

“This would be d'Artagnan the younger from Gascony?”

 

Aramis nodded.

 

“Did Athos give signs prior to this that suicide was an option?”

 

“He used to joke that one of these days he'd get lucky, drink some bad moonshine and never wake up.”

 

The Alliance officer nods, makes a note in his report.

 

Aramis stalks out into the streets once the interview is completed.

 

Ever since he found that holo-vid he's been so furious he can hardly speak. How could Athos do that to them? Why wouldn't he let them help? Was it just his honour or was their something more?

 

Given the interest the Alliance had in speaking to them, Aramis guessed it was something more.

 

 He finds himself restless and uninterested in his usual diversions. It doesn't help that Porthos seems to be too heartbroken to get angry too and instead spends most of his times keeping a watchful eye on d'Artagnan. 

 

Something drove Athos to it. Aramis is certain. Something had caused him to commit those murders and then drove him to the suicide.

 

Athos had been more than willing to face the 'justice' of killing d'Artagnan the Elder, and he had not even been guilty of that crime. But, here where he was guilty, he chose the cowards way out. 

 

He hears from Porthos what Athos had said about the Academy. He keeps his eye ever on the watch for the mysterious Milady who, it seems, knows more than she ever let on. There are pieces to this puzzle that Aramis just can't see but, he's determined to put it together in the end. 

 

The verse is buzzing with news from the planet called Miranda, something about unverified mass scale drug testing gone wrong, government cover-up and monsters of their own making wreaking havoc across the verse. 

 

It's not hard to find the local chapter of the resistance once that news hits. 

 

They're unorganized and discontented-- more a Saturday night bitch fest than a real and productive chapter of the movement but it's a start. 

 

Aramis, as the only member with any charisma or organizational skills takes over and starts getting into contact with other people in the France District. 

 

There isn't really a lot to work with. The French people are farmers and happy with their lot. Not even the disturbing news from far away is enough to shake them from their self-satisfied stupor. 

 

But Aramis will not be denied. It starts slowly enough. One of Porthos' old friends makes an appearance. Flea, she's called, the Queen of the County of Miracles, the most notorious region on the planet, a nation unto itself in the heart of the Alliance. She expresses an interest but makes no promises. It's a start. 

 

The next coup is in the form of an old browncoat comrade from the Unification war. Marsac is perhaps not the man that Aramis knew before the Seville massacre but he's still a soldier and he's willing to take action even if no one else is. Aramis does have to convince him not to gun down a prominent Alliance official in the street but he's skilled and he's determined and if he's dangerous well than at least he's on their side. Not to mention he has contacts in the resistance outside of France. Suddenly they well and truly are part of something bigger. 

 

It takes months but their are more victories and the more victories there are the greater the momentum that is built. The criminal elements have always fought against the Alliance and Aramis is more than capable of giving them the incentives to fully embrace the cause of the independents. 

 

Aramis is surprised when one day he leaves his room to head to guard duty and finds the Companion from Athos' funeral at his door. 

 

“May I come in?” She asks.

 

He nods and steps aside. She sweeps by him more regally than poor Queen Anne ever could. 

 

Aramis bows and puts on the smile he usually reserves for the royal court. 

 

“Your name is Mirabelle? Yes?” he asks. 

 

“And yours is Aramis.” She sniffs holding her hands close to her body as though to avoid touching anything 

 

“Yes, to what do I owe such an honour?” 

 

“Athos- I have a feeling your looking into avenging his death.” 

 

“Now why would you-” 

 

“The large one is all heart, any one can see that from a mile away, the boy has promise but is too full of ideals and too young besides. You, any fool can see your the cunning one, charming when you wish... I hear you've been supporting all this-” she waves to the room and gestures to Aramis' well tailored outfit “- by bedding the most wealthy women on this planet.” 

 

She looks him in the eye for the first time and smiles. “I appreciate a man who can get what he wants.” 

 

Aramis blinks. “Why are you here?” 

 

She smiles wider and after a pause and wiping it down with her handkerchief, sits down on the sofa. 

 

“I want to help you.” 

 

Aramis' mouth falls open. “Why? I mean- forgive me madam but from what I saw you were not close with your- with Athos.” He stumbles over the words unsure what exactly Mirabelle and Athos were to each other. 

 

She sighs, unconcerned by his slip. “No, I wasn't. Thomas and I understood one another, we shared a similar soul but Athos?” she shook her head. “I never understood that boy. Always so serious, not very interesting to me at all.” 

 

Aramis is very careful to keep his face from giving away anything. She notices and laughs. It's a very charming laugh and Aramis can see why she was once the most sought after Companion in not just the district but the three quadrants around it as well. 

 

“Oh, you are very good.” she cries delighted. “But, don't bother on my account. I know what people think of me for that, even among Companions I am considered something of a cold fish.” 

 

Aramis lets his pretenses fall and allows his face to show his disgust. 

 

“Fine. I think you must have very little feeling in you, to have children in that way.” 

 

She grins at him and starts to take off her gloves. “Finally some honesty! If you're wondering I don't think I did love Athos, but I loved Thomas, and I did care for Athos too, as best I could. I had two boys Aramis, and the Alliance killed both of them.”

 

All levity has bled from her voice and she is now deadly serious. 

 

“I'd like to settle that score, and I think you might be the man for the job.” 

 

Aramis grins. “Madame, you have most definitely come to the right place!!” 

 

She looks at him. “The weakness of most resistance movements is they lack reach. The men and women of the ships don't take kindly to outsiders, that or they're Alliance. So the people who should unite end up as fractured factions instead of a single movement.” 

 

Aramis sighs and shakes his head. “It's true but there's nothing to be done. Like you said, the spacers are a nation unto themselves and can spot an outsider a mile away. As a passenger any suspicious activity will get you sent straight to the Alliance, even if the crew doesn't care for them themselves.” 

 

She smiles softly at him. “There are two groups of people in the 'verse who can go wherever they want whenver they want, and never look suspicious.”

 

Aramis frowns. “Who?” 

 

“Companions and Shepherds.” 

 

Aramis laughs. “Whores and Priests. Of course.” 

 

“I am the High Priestess of the only Companion House in the France District. Did you know that?” 

 

“No.” 

 

She smiles the perfect Companion smile. “There is also a group of Shepherdesses who live near a sacred lake in one of the more remote regions of this planet. You once sought to enter such a life did you not?” 

 

“There were many lives I tried to leave.” Aramis replies with a smile. 

 

“You ought to reconnect to your faith. The loss of a friend can be a terrible thing to bear alone.” 

 

“I'm not alone.” Aramis quickly replies. 

 

Mirabelle glances around the room. “We are all alone Monsieur Aramis. I admit it, that is why people fear me. You would do well to do the same.” 

 

She gracefully rise and glides towards the door before turning back and repeating. “The convent by the sacred pool. I believe they follow Our Lady of the Waters. Go to them, you'll get what you need there.”

 

“Of course Madame.”

 

She grins like a shark. “Au revoir Monsier Aramis.” 

 

Aramis starts off with Marsac for the convent the next day. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Aramis' character development is definitely going to be influenced by what happens to his character in the book series. Mainly the fact that by "the Man in the Iron Mask" he is the Jesuit General and one of the most vocal and powerful voices of dissent while also being a manipulative and cutthroat individual.


	7. D'Artagnan Mourns and Learns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan seeks answers and desperately hopes that Athos is not dead.

“Do you know this man?” The Alliance officer asks. 

 

D'Artagnan hardly looks at the picture. “Yes.” 

 

“State for the record who he is.” 

 

“Athos of the Musketeers.” 

 

“How did you know him?”

 

“I am also a member of that company.” 

 

There's a long pause as the officer looks at him expectantly. 

 

D'Artagnan meets his gaze in silence. 

 

The silent confrontation lasts for almost five minutes before the officer grudgingly dismisses him. 

 

Porthos is waiting for him outside the office and walks with him back to the Garrison. It's disconcerting having an honour guard but d'Artagnan understands why they think it's necessary. 

 

The Academy has been very persistant in attempting to contact him. He's had to throw away his vid screen  because they were waving him constantly. 

 

If it hadn't been Athos' last request, he'd probably have taken a meeting with them by now. 

 

Porthos drops him off at the Garrison and then keeps walking flashing him a tired smile. 

 

D'Artagnan sits down at one of the long tables in the courtyard, and puts his head in his hands. 

 

Nothing has been the same since Athos' 'death'. Porthos is so sad it hurts to be aroud him and Aramis is so angry that he frightens d'Artagnan a little bit. 

 

And there's no fixing it. They'll all limp along until they can pull together again or they'll fall apart and drift away from one another. 

 

Athos would hate it if he could see them now, but if Athos could see them now they all wouldn't be such a mess. 

 

Porthos and Aramis don't think he's right. They think Athos must be dead. Perhaps that's less painful for them, d'Artagnan wonders, maybe it hurts them less to think he killed himself than to think he faked his death and ran without telling them. 

 

Life among the Musketeers has become a shadow of what it once was. 

 

D'Artagnan has that stupid browncoat song running through his head again. _Take my love, take my land take me where I cannot stand._

 

He's sitting dejected and and alone at the table when he sees her pass by on the street in front of the Garrison. 

 

The red dress, the dark hair. It's her. 

 

D'Artagnan is out the door and after her before he has time to think. 

 

“Milady de Winter!” he calls. She's already half-way down the street but she pauses and turns when she hears his voice. 

 

He's breathless when he catches up to her. She has slowed in her pace but not stopped walking. 

 

“Milady,” he says again with a bow. 

 

She eyes him with that cool and measured glance that she seems to use on everyone but Athos. D'Artagnan feels a lump rise in his throat just thinking about his friend. 

 

“Was there something you wanted d'Artagnan?”

 

“Yes. I just...may I speak with you?” 

 

She pauses. “Now why would you want to do a thing like that?” she says, walking more quickly. 

 

“It's about Athos.” 

 

“Athos is dead d'Artagnan and with him my interest in you.” She snaps coldly. 

 

“Athos is dead because I received an offer of admission to a prestigious Alliance sponsored acedemy in the Core.” d'Artagnan blurts out. 

 

She stops and rounds on him, her expression furious. She slaps him, hard. 

 

“Are you a fool?” she hisses. “Why would you trust me?” 

 

She's standing so close he can practically feel her breath on his face. 

 

“Because you were his wife, and he loved you.” 

 

“My love for him will do nothing for you.” She says, her rage crystal clear on her face. 

 

“Please Milady.” he begs. “I need to understand what's happening. Athos knew about the Academy and your the only one who-” 

 

“You want to know about that place?” she hisses, and there's nothing beautiful about her in that moment, everything is pure vicious venom. “Come to my house tonight, after 9.” 

 

Then she turns on her heel and body checks her way through the crowd before climbing up into a waiting hover carriage. 

 

D'Artagnan stands in the street and watches her go. He knows he may have done something uncomparably stupid but he can't regret it. 

 

Athos was so upset that morning that he went to a bar and killed 3 men with his bare hands, and then killed himself. D'Artagnan needs to know what sort of monster is on his scent. 

 

 

He arrives at Milady's grand mansion exactly on time. He's surprised that she opens the door herself. The majority of the house is dark. 

 

A single light sphere hovers at her shoulder as she leads him into the house. 

 

The room she takes him to is small and sparse except for some sinfully comfortable chairs.

 

She reclines on one and shoots him a withering glance as he stands uncertainly in the doorway. 

 

“Well, you were so eager to speak with me this morning. Speak” 

 

There's so much that d'Artagnan had planned to say but what comes out is: “Why did Athos do it?” 

 

She raises a eyebrow at him. “Do what?” 

 

“Kill himself, if he is really dead.” 

 

She raises both eyebrows at that and then looks away. “Because I told him to.” 

 

d'Artagnan drops onto the other chair. “What?” 

 

“I told him he had three choices: run, surrender or die, and that to die would be safest for the people he loves. Athos always was too noble for his own good.” 

 

“How could those be his only choices?” d'Artagnan gasps. 

 

Milady's gaze is like the knives she uses, sharp and deadly. “Because of the Academy and because of me.” 

 

“Tell me.” d'Artagnan orders. 

 

Milady sneers. “You wished to speak to me. I don't owe you anything. You have nothing to offer me.”

 

“I don't think Athos is dead.” d'Artagnan declares. 

 

That makes her change her tune. 

 

“Impossible. He wouldn't...he's left everything that matters to him behind. He wouldn't do that.” 

 

“He wouldn't put a reference to an Earth-that-was poem in his suicide note either, or a line from a browncoat anthem. But he did.” 

 

She sits up straight and stares at him intently. “What poem. What song.” 

 

“The poem begins 'do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there I do not sleep', than there's some poetical nonsense about being in the glints on snow and winds that blow and the poem ends 'do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there I did not die'. 

 

The song is the ballad of Serenity.” 

 

Milady bolts to her feet and paces twice across the room, obviously trying to digest the news. 

 

Finally she stops in front of d'Artagnan. “You may be right.” she says. 

 

She takes the single picture off the wall to reveal a safe. She unlocks it first with a thumb print and then with a lip print. 

 

The safe slides open to reveal a drive. She carefully pulls it out, handling it as though it's the most delicate of crystal. 

 

She pulls a key board out of the wall and a screen lights up in front of her. “Go to the front room. There should be an extra data-drive in the curiosity cabinet.” 

 

d'Artagnan dutifully went and got the chip. 

 

Milady jerked her head at the chair. “Sit down. This will take a while.” 

 

D'Artagnan does and she's right, it does take a long time. 

 

 

The next day d'Artagnan spends an hour making a few modifications to to a personal computer. He burns the network connection, wave functions, pretty much everything except what it will take to read that chip. Because who knows what's on it. It could be government secrets, it could be homemade porn from when Milady and Athos were still the Comte and Comtesse de Fère. D'Artagnan has given up trying to guess what comes next. 

 

He decides to look through it first. He doesn't want to get anyone's hopes up in case it turns out to be nothing. This way the only one devastated by the dissapointment will be him. 

 

He only has to read one of the documents before he knows: this is real. These are government secrets. 

 

It's strange running through the city looking for Aramis and Porthos again. It's like old times. “Drop everything and follow me! The country is in danger!” swashbuckling and daring-do all over again. 

 

Except this time it's not the country. It's Athos. 

 

He finds Porthos at the public library, and drags Aramis out of some slightly seedy looking meeting house. 

 

He explains everything to them as they practically run back to the Garrisson. 

 

He opens the pages and pages of documents. Shows them the official seals and the typed names beneath illegible signatures. 

 

This isn't just a smoking gun, it is crystal clear vid footage of the crime commited complete with a shot of the perps face. 

 

It's Porthos who points to the long long list of vid files and asks if d'Artagnan has opened them. He hasn't but, does so immediately. 

 

There's a white screen with the words: “O. De la Fère. Session . Excerpt. ”

 

The screen fills with an image of a room, blue-lit and sterile, there's a chair across from the camera behind a table. The screen flickers and a very young Athos is sitting in the chair. 

 

A voice says: “Olivier, may I call you that or would prefer your formal title?” 

 

“Olivier is fine.” Athos says. He looks nervours and is glancing around the room. 

 

“Well, fine isn't very good.” There's a shuffling of papers. “I understand that your friends and family call you Athos, would that be better?” 

 

Athos levels a very familiar glare at whoever's doing the interview. “Olivier is fine.” 

 

“I understand you were quite uncertain about coming here, would you tell me about that?” 

 

Athos shrugs, every inch a shy and awkward young man. “Thomas is the one who always wanted to live in the Core, I liked it on Fère just fine.”

 

“You didn't find it dull? You've completed every level of education available to you there.” 

 

Athos shrugs again. “It is home.” 

 

“If home was so important why did you choose to leave?” 

 

Athos grimaces. “Father felt it was important I spend some time in the Core. He insisted I continue my education.” 

 

“So you came here?” 

 

Athos smiles “Well, first I met Anne, and then I received my admission here and she convinced me we could come together. I'm afraid I wouldn't have been brave enough to go to a new place on my own.” 

 

“You're shy?” 

 

Athos laughs. “Just a little bit.” 

 

 

The video ends suddenly. They glance at one another. “Athos laughed.” It's Porthos that says it and they all know what he means. None of them has ever seen Athos laugh. Smile, yes, but never with teeth like in the video and certainly never laugh. 

 

D'Artagnan opens a video further down the list. 

 

O. de la Fère. Session 31. The white screen reads. 

 

Athos is in the chair again doubled over. There's something wrong with his arms it looks like. He's holding them awkwardly to his body as though they're hurting him. 

 

“-Not what I agreed to.” he's saying. “Please, it hurts. I- I don't want to be here anymore I want to go home.” His voice is breaking. He's scared and on the verge of tears. 

 

“I thought you said you were committed to our program.” 

 

“This...this wasn't how the program was described to me. You' can't keep me here. I'm the son of a Comte. My f-father will w-worry.” He's starting to sob on the last words. 

 

“Your father died two days ago. The news only arrived today. I'm sorry. You know how it is getting information out of the France district.” 

 

“What?” the news has shocked Athos into a state of calm. 

 

“Your father died two days ago. It seems he made a dossage mistake with his chems.” 

 

“C-can I go home for the funeral?” 

 

“Now you know you need to stay in a sterile environment because of the onging treatments on your arms.” 

 

“What about Anne?” Athos asks in a small voice, head hanging. “Can I see her?” 

 

The interviewer pauses. “Yes, I think that might be arranged.” 

 

D'Artagnan opens another one. 

 

The screen fills with a hunched figure, practically doubled over rocking back and forth. There`s the sound of someone trying to stop crying. 

 

The interviewer says: “Tell me how would you rate your pain?” 

 

Athos shudders. 

 

D'Artagnan closes the video and opens another. 

 

In this one Athos sits there with tears streaming down his face and calmly answers all the interviewers questions. 

 

D'Artagnan clicks another. 

 

Athos sits there calmly, his face a complete blank. There's a healing surgical incision on his neck. 

 

“Your handlers tell me they are disappointed in your progress. Do you have anything to say about that?” 

 

“I completed my orders and reached the objective.” 

 

“You broke the rules.” 

 

“The rules were illogical. Either it is a test of obediance or it is not.” There's almost something of the familiar wry sarcasm in his voice. 

 

“It says here you're being considered as a subject for more physical experiments, since you've been so...difficult about the practical applications of your skills. How do you feel about that?” 

 

“I will do as I'm told.” 

 

 

“Stop” a hoarse voice says. It takes d'Artagnan a minute to realize it is Porthos and not a new person on the screen. 

 

“Just stop.” he repeats. D'Artagnan closes the screen. Porthos is looking at them like they're strangers. 

 

“What are you thinking? He wouldn't want us to see this. It was wrong what was done to him and it's wrong to sit here and watch it.” he declares, anger creeping in the longer he speaks. 

 

He shakes his head at them. “I'm ashamed of you.” He blinks back the tears that have started to fill his eyes. “Especially you Aramis, this is what d'Artagnan's facing, I understand why he'd want te know, but you? All you talk about is how angry you are about what happened to Athos.” 

 

“Porthos it's not like that.” Aramis tries to explain. 

 

“Isn't it? I bet yer thrilled. Finally got proof and not just proof- the sort of proof that'll cause a stir- make a splash. You put those vids on the net everyone'll be talkin' about it. And there's more, I bet there's worse. Those are just sessions, bet there might be other things on there. Whatever they did to fuck up his arms in that second one maybe.” 

 

“Porthos.” 

 

“NO!” he bites his lip and shakes his head. “No, that's- that's some poor stupid kid being tortured and your practically slobberin' at the mouth over it because you've finally got something that people in this district can't ignore: a child, a Comte no less, kidnapped tortured, experimented on by the government. Hell, take this to the king, he'll have us at war in a month.” 

 

There's a churning feeling in Aramis' gut. It might be guilt. Porthos is right. He'd been heartbroken to see Athos on that screen looking so young and so in pain but more than that he's been brimming with excitement. 

 

“These videos can bring the people who did this to justice.” 

 

Porthos throws back his head and laughs. “I don't care. ATHOS WILL STILL BE DEAD.” He all but roars. “AND I'M SICK OF YOU RUNNING AWAY FROM THAT! With your schemes and your meetings and your oh-so-dangerous new friend.” 

 

Aramis can't hide his shock. How the hell had Porthos known about Marsac? And then something hardens in him. 

 

“I should just act like you I suppose?” He spits out. “Weeping in the street and beating my breast in grief? Poor Porthos who feels more than the real of us callous unfeeling monsters!!” 

 

Porthos curls his lip in disgust and for a moment d'Artagnan is worried his going to take a swing at Aramis. Then something snaps and Porthos just shakes his head defeated. 

 

“There's more to life than vengeance, Aramis. Maybe you really do want to built something new for everyone in the verse and that's good- that's admirable. I hope you manage it. But me? I wanna build a _life_. I want the same things I've always wanted only, thanks to Athos, who loved us all enough to leave us rather than risk that Hell coming down on our heads-” he gestures at the screen. “I finally have a chance at getting everything I ever dreamed of and more.” 

 

The tears overflow his eyes then and he doesn't bother wiping them away. “You're my brother Aramis, always will be and if ever there's something I can do for you: Call and I'll come running. But, I'm not your co-conspirator, I am not your fellow revolutionary. I'm your friend. I love you.” 

 

He takes a deep breath and wipes a hand across his eyes. He can't seem to meet Aramis' gaze. He doesn't want to see the betrayal there. The hurt and the pain and the 'how could you do this to me?' 

 

He puts his hat on and walks out the door. All the way to his apartment he keeps waiting for Aramis or d'Artagnan to come running after him. 

 

They never do. 

 

When he gets home he sits at his table for a long time and considers sending his application to the engineering schools. He doesn't, not because he doesn't want to but because he's certain now that Athos died to try and keep them all safe. 

 

He's not sure d'Artagnan is safe with Aramis anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? This chapter has been sitting in my computer forever. I figured I may as well post it. 
> 
> Aramis' behaviour here is based on his characterization from the Man in The Iron mask.


	8. Can't Take the Sky from Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos has a run in with the Firefly class ship the Serenity, and it makes him miss his friends. But the verse just keeps on spinning.

Athos is sitting on the ramp of the Queen's Seamstress guarding the ship while the Bonancieuxs went about their business on the planet.

The planet in question is one of the poor dusty ones just on the edge between destitution and well-to-do. It's the sort of place that Athos only has vague hazy memories of from when Anne was dragging his deadweight across the galaxy doped up and delirious on pain meds and desperately hoping to avoid notice and take the round about route back into the French District.

 

Athos does not particularly enjoy it. It doesn't feel like home. It doesn't even feel like Paris.

 

It's so easy to forget how different the France District is from the rest of the galaxy, how cut off they are by the Alliance restrictions and their own stubbornness. Most people in the France District never leave the planet they're born on, the lucky few who do almost never travel beyond the imaginary line that cuts the France District off from the rest of Alliance controlled space.

 

Athos doubts very much that anyone on this border moon had travelled less than half-way across the galaxy to be here.

 

Afterall, Athos has.

 

He finds the unruly mix of sounds, and smells and sights over whelming. It's been ages since he's found himself noticing how much he hears and sees and smells.

 

He wouldn't have thought that the quiet and darkness of the black space between stars would help him so much, but the noise of normal spaces hurts his ears now.

 

He misses the over-decorated ostentation of the France. All these Alliance-style clean lines seem too harsh in the bright dry air.

 

He's considering these things while tending to his ever growing collection of knives and other bladed weapons (as a guard he of course carries more than one gun but his talent has always been with knives and swords).

 

He is eyeing a particularly fine specimen of Mamluk style dagger that is considerably underpriced across the market square. Buying it would unfortunately entail shouldering his way across the busy square and haggling with the beady eyed little cretin maning the booth.

 

Athos has found he wasn't one for talking these days. Didn't seem like there was much point without his friends to laugh at his quips. No matter how kind and wonderful Madame Bonnancieux is and no matter how annoying Monsieur Bonnancieux was. It wasn't worth breaking his silence for.

 

Constance had accepted him easily, and with no small measure of kindness and grace, adopting him as if he was fragile thing in need of protection despite the fact he was nothing less than a hired killer.

 

His relationship with Monsieur Bonnancieux had quickly degenerated into disapproving grunts and scathing looks and Athos had to admit that so far he found that greatly preferable to actually ever having to speak to the insufferable human being.

 

Athos has just about worked up the nerve to throw caution to the wind and brave the market when he notices a pale young woman with large eyes and long brown hair watching him intently.

 

He scowls at her, knowing that his scar makes it look a bit more fearsome than he is. She just smiles a slightly vacant smile.

 

She scampers over on graceful feet that hardly seem to touch the ground.

 

“The lovers thought that if their hearts were true it would mend the broken bits.” She declares sagely. “But they had been turned to fearsome beasts and the closer they tried to hold each other the more their talons tore at tender flesh.”

 

Athos looks up sharply. She grins wider and there is something knowing about the way she looks at him. Unjudging, but definitely knowing.

 

“I know you didn't mean to kill them. That you would have happily hung if that was really all they would have done. But you couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk going back or sending the people you love there.”

 

She has grown solemn and seems as though she really does understand.

 

Athos feels as though his body has turned to fire and ice both at once.

 

There was no mistaking what this girl was. Alliance. A Reader. The most terrible of all the weapons the Academy had created because they were so wild. You couldn't cut at a brain like that and have it stay fully human.

 

Athos knew he was a monster but at least he was a human one. Not like this girl with her too wide smile and her tired eyes.

 

His hand is on his sword (bought cheap at a stopover before they crossed out of the France District- he may be dead but he was not ever going to use an Alliance-made sword) and he is on his feet before she could react. There are perhaps half a dozen people in the verse who could move faster than this girl. He is one of them.

 

He swallows and looks around when he realizes what he's done. Moving that quickly was stupid even here in the back of beyond where angels feared to tread.

 

She seems to realize she has scared him and holds up her hands as though she is trying to calm a panicked horse.

 

“Don't worry. She kept her promise. She didn't tell. I'm not one of them.” She smiles again.

 

He notices that she isn't wearing shoes and that does it. The Alliance would never send an operative out without proper footwear.

 

He takes his hand from his blade and slowly sits back down again, eyeing her warily.

 

She grins and skips a step closer. “Can I sit with you?”

 

He nods and bows-gesturing to the bit of ramp next to him.

 

She daintily sits next to him.

 

For the first time since he'd run from Paris Athos was almost tempted to smile. Almost.

 

He spends the afternoon sitting with her and not talking as she chitter chatters about this and that. Probably half of it was things she is picking out of the heads of people in the crowd but it is all innocuous enough: weather patterns on the edge on New Melbourne, the traditional dancing styles of Earth-that-was which have taken route in different parts of the core, the chemical processes that are required for the forging of Damascus steel.

 

Then someone comes up and grabs the little girl by her neck and things go bad.

 

“There you are missy. Now what've always told ya 'bout talking the scary men with guns that ain't me?”

 

Athos has his laser pistol out and cocked before he even thinks about it. “I'd unhand the lady if I were you.” He hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd spoken until he feels the words rasping out of his throat.

 

“An why should I let a fancy talkin' gunslinger tell me what te do?” The large man drawls with his hand on the back of the girl's neck. Resting lightly. She doesn't seem happy but she doesn't look like she is going to resist.

“I think what goes on between Me n' River here's our business. She's comin' with me.”

 

“River and I happen to be very old friends.” Athos lies as smoothly now as if he still wore the blue cape of the Musketeers. “We went to school together in the Core. Now let. Her. go.”

 

“Funny.” A new voice says. “I could have sworn I'd met all of my sister's friends.”

 

Athos turns to look and in that moment something sharp stabs into his neck and he loses consciousness.

 

 

 

He wakes up and it's cold and there's the familiar feeling of a handcuff around each wrist. He knows it's a hospital or infirmary without opening his eyes: that dry air and antiseptic doesn't come from anything else.

It takes everything in him not to show the panic he feels at the idea he might be back **there**.

 

He immediately considers the cuffs. He can hear that there are other people in the room. Who exactly is anybody's guess but a safe bet would be to say that they do not wish him well.

 

There are three of them. If he jerks at the cuffs they'll know he's awake right away.

 

He jerks the cuffs. He can't help but want to see what they'll do.

 

The sounds stop abruptly. He peaks out from under one eye.

 

The man who got him with the injector gun in sitting on the counter in a small white room with harsh clear light. Infirmary than.

 

Two other men are lounging against the walls. The big man who had grabbed the girl by the neck and another man in a long brown coat, a red shirt and suspenders.

 

By his dress the large man is urban in origin probably from the slums of some Core or Sub-Core planet. A Mercenary based on his weapons and attitude.

 

Everything about the stranger screams: Outer Rims Born, Bred and Browncoat.

 

It's the young fresh faced man who speaks.

 

“First things first: Are you Alliance?”

 

Athos raises a brow. “As from as you can get.”

 

The Outer Rimmer snorts.

 

The young man shoots him a reproving look but doesn't say anything to him.

 

“My name is Simon Tam. Does that mean anything to you?”

 

“Ought it to? You seem to have an inflated sense of your own self-importance if you expect the man you kidnapped to recognize you.”

 

The big man suppresses a chuckle and Simon shoots him a glare.

 

“Why were you talking to my sister?”

 

“I assume your sister is the charming if somewhat...touched young woman in the market?”

 

Simon nods.

 

Athos rolls his eyes. “She came up to me and started chatting. I did not find anything in her presence to give offence so I chatted back.”

 

“Why'd ya say you knew her?” the Outer Rimmer cuts him loudly.

 

Athos raises his eyebrows. “I'm not sure where it's like where you come from but on my home world if someone attempts to drag a young woman off by her neck if is considered very poor conduct to just let them!”

 

The big man scratches the side of his head with a gun. It's all Athos can do to suppress his long rehearsed and much delivered speech on fire arms safety.

 

“Whas' he sayin' I can't understand his fancified talk?” he asks.

 

The Outer Rimmer doesn't appear inclined to explain.

 

Simon takes it upon himself: “He means that when you tried to drag River off he thought she was in danger.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“What about what you said about the school?”

 

“A lie to lend credence to my attempts to protect her.”

 

Simon nods and seems to consider that for a moment.

 

“So...you didn't attend a certain Alliance sponsored academy?” he's trying to say it blithely, nonchalant but there is an edge to his voice.

 

Athos' blood runs cold.

 

He opens and closes his mouth a few times but nothing comes out.

 

Simon smiles compassionately. “Don't worry, I won't make you answer that. But, if you ever need help, if you ever need anything: send me a wave. Firefly transport class: The Serenity under Captain Malcom Reynolds. I'll do what I can.”

 

Athos nods shortly. “Simon Tam, Firefly transport the Serenity, Captain Mal Reynolds. I'll remember, now, if you'll uncuff me, I need to get back to my ship.

 

On his way out River floats up to him and whispers in his ear. “The bear and the priest and the boy will be coming for you soon. The mountain must greet the sun as best he can.”

 

He thanks her and walks out past the large man and the flinty eyed Captain.

 

He manages to get back to the Queen's Seamstress before Constance even realizes he was ever gone.

 

They leave the planet that very evening and Athos is relieved to see the back of it.

 

He wonders what will happen to that girl, but it's a big verse, he'll probably never know. Just like Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan he's going to have to choose to believe she'll be alright, just like he prays they are, though he hasn't quite resigned himself to never knowing what will happen to them. He smiles to himself as watches another sun fade into the distance. After all, she said they'd be coming for him soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, not that anyone's keeping track, I've just made a pact with myself to finish all my unfinished fics.   
> Anyway, this is Athos meeting River and Co. with some hints to the powder keg that's going to be set off. 
> 
> This takes place right before the events of the movie Serenity and I imagine Aramis being on the ground floor of a Revolutionary movement following Mal's broadcast, and eventually they four of them would be reunited etc. etc.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this fic entirely on that scene in Knight takes Queen where Athos hears the horses (okay: sees the ripples in the pot and magically KNOWS it's horses). 
> 
> Only explanation for that? He has super hearing. 
> 
> Those of you familiar with Firefly will have noticed that Athos is not in fact psychic, my explanation is that he was part of a different line of experiments focused on augmenting existing senses rather than granting new ones. Basically he was an earlier generation of experiments and River is the latest gadget.


End file.
